Harry Potter and the Watcher's Council
by drea23
Summary: Harry Potter returns for his sixth year at Hogwarts, where Buffy and Willow have been recruited to teach DADA. Tensions run high when Harry suspects a traitor in his inner circle and Ginny begins acting strangely.
1. Prophecy Boy

_Harry Potter is owned by JK Rowling, and I hereby disclaim all ownership of anything in the Potter-verse. The Buffy-verse is owned by Joss Whedon, not me. _

A/N: To clear up a bit of confusion, the timelines here are not in line with the actual timelines of Buffy/Harry Potter. The Harry Potter timeline is on course, while for the puposes of this story, this takes place after season 6 of Buffy. I'm pretending that season 7 never happened, because I'm the author and I can :) 

This is an updated, *beta'd* version of chapters 1&2. I've made some important changes that I think add a lot to the story, give it more depth and all that. I'll be updating/addng chapter 10 sometime this week. Thanks to my beta's, Judy and Lexi, for being wonderful and helping to make my story better. Go maroons! 

**************

Chapter One: Prophecy Boy 

_"Well, just because she's Miss Save-The-World and everything, you have to make a big deal? I have to cook! And everything." -Cordelia, "Surprise"_

The hot summer sun shone brightly down on the parched back garden of number 4, Privet Drive. The air was thick with humidity and miserably heavy, driving everyone indoors to escape the oppressive heat of July in Surrey. Only two people remained outdoors, sweating profusely as they greeted each other with hesitant smiles. 

Harry Potter, a tall boy of sixteen, had the strained look of someone who had seen too much too soon in life. His skin shone with a sallow gauntness in the harsh summer sunlight, and his black hair hung duly in his eyes, eyes that had lost their spark and seemed deadened. He looked lost and scared to his companion, but mostly he looked sad, and with good reason--Harry had lost so many people in his short life, most recently his godfather only a month before. 

Harry attempted a smile and gestured toward one of the stone benches in his Aunt Petunia's garden, benches which she only used in order to peek over next door's fence and spy on them. Aunt Petunia thrived on gossip and loved catching her neighbors doing things they shouldn't-he doubted whether the benches had ever been used to do anything else until now. "What are you doing here, Professor Lupin?" Harry asked, a quiver of fear running through his voice. It had been that way all summer for him. Every time he received a letter from his friends, or read the newspaper, threads of fear seemed to race through him, making him wonder if this was the letter that would inform him of yet another loss, another death. He swallowed convulsively at the thought. He couldn't bear more loss, not now. 

After five years of training at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Harry was only two years away from being a fully trained wizard. Because of his past, and a prophecy that seemed destined to mark out his future, Harry wasn't an ordinary boy, or even an ordinary wizard. As an infant he'd been marked for death by one of the most powerful and terrible wizards of all time, Lord Voldemort, but had survived, the curse which should have killed him backfiring upon its originator. Only last year his protector and the Headmaster at Hogwarts, Professor Dumbledore, had told him why Voldemort had tried to kill him and the prophesy which had changed his whole life. Harry had been marked by Voldemort, literally marked with a distinctive lightening bolt scar on his forehead, and because of this, Harry was destined to either kill or be killed. Nothing else seemed important to him now, and it was because of this that he had a hard time paying attention to what his former Professor, Remus Lupin, had been telling him. 

"What? I'm sorry. Can you say that again?" Harry shrugged apologetically. 

Lupin gazed at him, concern shining in his eyes. "Dumbledore's sent me to check up on you, see how you're holding up," he repeated. 

"Everyone's ok then?" Harry asked, relief surging through him. 

"Yes, of course. We just wanted to make sure that you were ok." He gave Harry a hard stare, as if trying to penetrate the younger man's thoughts. "You haven't been writing to anyone, haven't talked to anyone about what happened. About… Sirius." 

Harry felt a surge of anger rush through him and welcomed it, because anger obliterated the seemingly constant strain of fear running through him. "What do you know about it?" he spat, his face coloring a deep red in his anger. "You didn't… it wasn't… it wasn't _your_ fault he died! _You_ didn't nearly get all your friends killed by Voldemort because you're too stupid to listen to reason, because you were so sure you were right!" Harry was shouting now, and Lupin flinched visibly at the onslaught of his anger. 

"Don't I?" he asked quietly, a flash of anger burning in his own eyes. "Everyday since Lily and James were killed, I've tortured myself for trusting the wrong man, blamed myself for their deaths. If I had only had more faith in Sirius… but I didn't, I thought Wormtail too weak to be a spy, too enthralled by all of us." He looked away from Harry, his eyes burning now with self hatred rather than anger. He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. He looked into Harry's eyes again. "I loved him too, Harry. He was my best friend. I know just as well as you what its like to lose all the people around you." 

Harry nodded, feeling guilty for his outburst at Lupin, for his unthinking comments. Of course Lupin would have blamed himself for his parents' deaths. "Its Voldemort," he whispered, his throat stinging with unshed tears. "If it weren't for him…" 

Lupin nodded slowly, relieved that he'd gotten through to Harry, at least a little bit. "Listen Harry, I know you're hurting. I am too. And its because of that I think, and Dumbledore agrees, that you should return with me to the Burrow for the rest of the summer. You should be around the people who care about you. You've been with the Dursleys long enough, and we can protect you well enough at the Burrow." 

Harry nodded slowly, and for the first time all summer, a feeling of relief and almost happiness flooded through him. He was going to the Burrow, he'd see the Weasleys and maybe even Hermione very soon, and most importantly he'd be back in the wizarding world, the world in which he belonged. 

**************

Lupin helped Harry lug his heavy trunk filled with various school books, his broom, and his wand, across the street to Mrs. Figg's house, while Harry carried Hedwig's, his owl's, cage. Hedwig hooted dolefully at a passing neighbor, Mr. Finch, walking his dog. Mr. Finch stared at the two of them as they passed and Harry sighed, knowing that he'd never hear the end of this little expedition from his aunt and uncle, who were in constant terror of respectable people discovering what they called his "abnormality." Since they were both gone for the day, however, Harry could safely escape without being yelled at. He wouldn't see them again until the next summer if he could help it, and he could only hope they'd forget about this brief lapse during the next nine months. 

Mrs. Figg greeted them in her slippers and housecoat, waving a thin piece of parchment at them as they maneuvered around her cats, of which there were at least a dozen. "I've had a letter from Arthur, asking to use my fireplace. I suppose that's why you're here." 

Harry had always thought Mrs. Figg to be just an average old cat lady, obsessed with her animals and a few cards short of a full deck. It was only last year that he'd discovered she was fully aware of the wizarding world, although she herself couldn't perform magic. She was a squib-a non-magic person born into a wizarding family. She was an important ally, however, and she was one of the people Dumbledore had set up to protect Harry as a child. 

"Do you mind?" Lupin asked politely, huffing a little with the weight of the trunk. Never a strong man, Lupin looked older and more ragged than he ever had before, Harry noticed now for the first time. His werewolf transformations were physically exhausting, Harry knew, but Lupin had clearly been grieving as well. He looked almost as bad as Harry, and Harry cursed himself for not having noticed it before. 

"Of course not, go right ahead. Mind you, its only recently been connected to the Floo Network, and the Ministry connector that was here seemed pretty dodgey to me. Took offense to poor Toodles when she brushed up against him for some petting!" 

Harry smiled at Mrs. Figg's diatribe, the first sincere smile he'd had since leaving King's Cross at the beginning of the summer. "Harry, why don't you go first, and I'll follow with your trunk?" Lupin suggested. 

Harry nodded, grasping Hedwig's cage tightly and taking a pinch of the green powder from beside Mrs. Figg's fireplace. "Thanks a lot, Mrs. Figg," he told the old woman, who glowed at the praise. "Give Toodles a pat for me, then." Grinning, he threw the powder into the fireplace, which burst into green flames. Stepping into the flames, he yelled out his destination, "The Burrow!" and held on tightly to Hedwig's cage. 

**************

Harry arrived at the Burrow coughing and covered in soot from Mrs. Figg's fireplace which, Harry thought grimly to himself, must not have been cleaned in several years. His best friend, Ron Weasley, sat at the kitchen table clearly awaiting his arrival. Harry grinned when he saw him. Although it had been only a month since they had parted at King's Cross, to Harry it had felt like years. It was refreshing just to see Ron's bright red hair and gangly form sprawled in the rough wooden chair before the fire. 

"Harry!" he cried out, leaping up to take Hedwig's cage and give his friend a pat on the back. His voice, though filled with excitement, also contained a thread of worry. Harry sighed. It was clear that he'd have to explain himself at some point, or everyone, especially his friends, would continue asking him if he was all right. 

"Where's everyone else?" Harry asked, moving away from the fireplace so Lupin could come through. 

"They're, er, well its supposed to be a surprise really. Mum gathered everyone here to have a birthday party for you." Ron explained as Lupin appeared in the fire with a burst of green flame. 

Harry turned angrily on his former Professor. "You brought me here for a party! That's what this was all about?" 

Lupin sighed, letting Harry's trunk fall to the floor with a loud thud. His hand settled on Harry's shoulder, his eyes looking wearier than ever. "You're here because we care about you," he said again, giving Harry's shoulder a squeeze. Harry looked away from him, feeling guilty for his outburst. He just couldn't help thinking that while they were celebrating and going on with their lives, other people out there were dying and Voldemort was getting stronger. 

Harry produced a weak smile. "C'mon then, mate!" Ron said dragging Harry toward the garden. "Everyone's waiting." 

Harry, Ron, and Lupin left the kitchen through the doors that led to the garden to find a crowd of people outside, busily preparing for a party. It was clear that Harry had arrived sooner than expected. Mrs. Weasley, Ron's mother, was directing food of all kinds onto the long table with little flicks of her wand. There was all Harry's favorites, plus a huge chocolate cake burning with candles. "Weasley Wheezes Everlasting Flamers," Ron whispered to him, pointing toward the candles. "The joke is that, no matter how hard you try to blow them out, they just keep going." 

Harry laughed. "Muggles have them!" he exclaimed. 

Ron sniggered. "But do muggle candles shout insults at the person while he tries to blow them out?" 

Harry shook his head. Everyone was so busy that no one had noticed them yet. Hermione, Harry's other best friend from Hogwarts, was stringing up a banner between two posts in the ground that read, "Happy Birthday, Harry!" She was balancing precariously on a step stool, while Ron's younger sister, Ginny, gave her directions from below. As both girls were still underage, they couldn't use magic during the holiday and were forced to complete their tasks the old fashioned muggle way. 

Fred and George, Ron's older twin brothers, had no such qualms, having left school the year before. They were huddled behind a bush, using magic to unbalance Hermione's stool and make the banner fall down every time she finally got it up. Harry and Ron walked over to join them, while Professor Lupin approached Ron's dad to let him know they had arrived safely. 

The twins saw Harry and Ron approaching and motioned them to crouch behind the bush with them. Harry grinned at them. Sometimes Fred and George were the only people who could make him laugh enough to forget all the terrible things that had happened recently. "Hello there, Harry," George said, grinning and holding out his hand for Harry to shake. "We're just having a bit of revenge on Hermione for all the trouble she gave us last year," he explained at Harry's questioning glance. 

Harry laughed. Last year Hermione had been made a prefect and had taken her duties very seriously. Rather too seriously, as far as the twins were concerned. She had told them off several times for using first years to test their joke candies on, and the twins had been sore about it ever since. 

"They've been doing stuff like this all day," Ron explained, grinning. "I'd say something, but I kind of like seeing Hermione taken down a peg or two." Silently Harry agreed. Although Hermione had loosened up quite a bit in the past year, she could still be a pain sometimes, always harping on them about getting their work done. He knew she meant well though, and was just trying to look out for her friends. 

"C'mon," Harry pulled Ron up. "Let's go help her, at least." 

They walked over to where Hermione was still busily trying to erect the banner. Ginny gave a smile of welcome and rolled her eyes at Hermione's efforts. "A little higher, Hermione," Harry directed her from below. 

Hermione screeched and leaped off the bench, practically attacking Harry with what he supposed was a hug. "Oh, Harry! I'm so glad to see you!" She pulled away, looking him up and down critically. "You look awful! Your eyes are all bloodshot and your hair needs trimming and... Harry, how long has it been since you bathed?" 

Harry colored, his pale cheeks turning bright red. Ginny cleared her throat. "I'll just go tell mum you're here then," she said, backing away from the others, trying to suppress her laughter. Harry was embarrassed. Hermione was right, he did look awful, and he hadn't really been trying to take care of himself at all. His aunt and uncle hadn't been too harsh with him this past summer, probably because his friends had threatened to come check up on him if he was being mistreated, and if there was one thing the Durselys couldn't stand in their house, it was wizards. He couldn't use the Dursleys as an excuse. Seeing the concern and worry in his friend's eyes now, Harry felt a surge of guilt for having been so careless. He'd been brooding and wallowing all summer, about Sirius mainly, but also about how everyone he cared about seemed to get hurt because they were friends with him. Now he realized that sometimes, he was the one hurting them. 

He gave her a weak smile. "Maybe I'd better go wash up a bit before this party then, eh?" He glanced around, noticing for the first time that Mad-Eye Moody was there, talking to Mundungus Fletcher, and even Kingsley Shacklebolt, an auror with the Ministry and a member of the Order, had come to see him. All these people were there just to celebrate his birthday. Harry felt his throat tighten and looked away quickly, trying to clear his thoughts. "All right then, Ron?" 

Ron shrugged. "Yeah, go ahead. This lot's so busy trying to make everything perfect, they'll never notice." 

Harry hurried indoors to clean up, not wanting to see the same worried looks from Mrs. Weasley and the rest of his friends that Hermione had shot at him. He was giving his hair a good scrubbing in the kitchen sink when Ginny's voice penetrated his thoughts, making him jump and hit his head painfully on the faucet. 

"Ooh, sorry Harry. I just wanted to talk to you without the others," she explained. Harry couldn't see her, as his eyes were filled with soap and water and his glasses lay on the counter next to the sink, but he nodded anyway. "Er, right," she said nervously. "I just wanted to say thanks." She paused a long while as Harry shook the water from his hair and put his glasses back on. 

He frowned, looking down at her. "For what?" he asked, thinking that if anything, she should be cursing him. Ginny had been one of the people he had led into danger a month ago at the Ministry, nearly getting them all killed because he was foolish enough to believe his own dreams. 

"Harry, you don't understand what that meant for me, and for Neville and Luna as well. We felt like we were a part of something, like we belonged to something bigger than ourselves. Like we were finally doing something." She flushed, looking away from him. "I just don't want you blaming yourself for anything to do with me. I chose to go, I had to go. You're not the only one who feels duty bound to help people!" she finished off, sounding a little angry. 

Harry didn't know what to say. He knew she was right, that he hadn't forced any of them to go. That if he'd had his way, most of them would have stayed behind. But in the end he'd needed them-they'd never have gotten out of the Department of Mysteries alive without each other's help. "I should be the one thanking you," he said finally. "You and Neville and Luna. We'd have never gotten out without your help." 

Ginny shifted uncomfortably. "Well, I think everyone's ready for you now. Why don't we go out to the garden." Harry nodded, starting toward the doors. "And Harry," Ginny added with a small smile. "Don't forget to act surprised." 

*********************

The party was finally winding down after three hours of eating and talking, and Harry couldn't help but feel happy. For the first time since he'd left Hogwarts his stomach was full and he wasn't worrying about what terrible thing would happen next. Everyone he cared about was around him, with the exceptions of Hagrid and Dumbledore, who were undoubtedly too busy with work for the Order to be there. Harry didn't mind though. Now that he knew why Dumbledore had been so distant with him the past year, and how much pressure the old man must be under, he couldn't maintain his anger. Instead he felt the familiar sense of worry. Dumbledore was old, how old Harry couldn't even begin to guess, and they needed him to fight Voldemort. While the prophecy may have declared that he, Harry, was the only one with the power to destroy Voldemort, he knew too that Dumbledore was more important in other ways. He was the head of the Order, for one thing, and had significant pull in the wizarding world. If wizards were going to unite to fight Voldemort and his Death Eaters, Dumbledore would be the one to unite them. 

Harry was shaken from his thoughts by the growl of Mad Eye Moody's voice beside him. "Potter," he said, taking the chair to Harry's right, "You don't seem to be enjoying yourself," he commented. 

Harry shook his head, trying to avoid the stare of Moody's magical eye. "Er, its not that," he faltered, attempting to look happier. "I've just got a lot on my mind." 

"I've been in this business a long time," Moody growled, taking a swig from his hip flask. "I've seen you fight, Potter, and you're the best for your age I've ever seen." Harry swallowed. Somehow whenever he talked to Mad Eye, he always came away feeling more worried than before. "You've a gift, Potter. Good instincts and a lot of power behind you. But that won't be enough to defeat him." Harry's startled gaze flew to meet Mad Eye's squinty real eye. Could the man possibly know about the prophesy? "I'm not saying its up to you," he added, and Harry relaxed. Somehow he didn't want everyone knowing his fate. "Constant vigilance!" he barked suddenly, making Harry jump. 

"Er, right." Harry stood up quickly. "I think I'll go see what Ron and Hermione are up to." 

He found his friends up on the third floor of the gangly house, in Ron's bedroom. Harry paused outside the door, shaking his head. He could hear Hermione shouting, and knew that she and Ron were having yet another row. "It can't hurt to at least ask him, Ron!" Hermione was saying, sounding angrier than Harry had ever heard her. "Don't you care about him at all? There's something wrong besides Sirius, isn't that obvious to you?" 

Harry barely heard Ron's stammering reply. "Don't you accuse... of course I care! I just think, well, if he wants to say he will. Us badgering him about it won't do any good." 

The room was silent for a few minutes. Just as Harry was about to open the door, Ron said quietly, "Don't cry, Hermione. We'll be back at Hogwarts soon, and then we'll all be safe." Harry heard the strain in Ron's voice and could tell he didn't know what to do with a crying Hermione. 

He knocked gently on the door and walked in. Hermione was sobbing into Ron's pillow as Ron patted her awkwardly on the back, trying to comfort her. "Er," Harry began, feeling just as uncomfortable as Ron looked, and very guilty for being the cause of Hermione's tears. "I couldn't help but hear your, er, conversation," he continued lamely. He didn't know precisely what to say. He certainly didn't want to tell them about the prophesy, but he couldn't stand for Hermione to keep worrying about him like this. So instead he told a half truth. 

"Hermione, its just that..." He took a deep breath. "I'm sorry I didn't answer your letters. I know you all were worried about me, but I just needed some time alone, to think, I guess. And," he let the air escape his lungs in a big whoosh, "I'm sick of putting people in danger all the time!" He could feel his own anger building, not at her or Ron, but at himself. "If I had listened to you for once, and not been so arrogant and convinced by myself, well, Sirius would still be alive! I put you all in danger, and I can't stand it that being friends with me means being very likely to die!" 

"Oh, Harry!" Hermione cried, rushing to smother him in a hug. He could feel his own tears clog his throat. Lately it seemed he always felt like crying. 

"Harry," Ron began, pacing up and down the small room. "Its like this mate. You're not getting rid of us anytime soon. Me or Hermione, and probably not the others that helped us that night. We're all in it together. V-Voldemort," Ron stammered over the name, "has affected all our lives, and we all want him destroyed. You can't stop us from fighting by your side mate, so stop trying." 

Harry took a deep breath, nodding slowly. Ron had said almost the same thing Ginny had, and Harry knew they were both right. He would keep the secret of his true responsibilities quiet-they couldn't help him there. He gave his friends a weak smile. "Since I can't get rid of you then, who's up for a game of Quidditch?" 

*************************


	2. Into the Woods

Chapter 2

_"Sorry, but I'm an old-fashioned gal. I was raised to believe that men dig up the corpses and the women have the babies." -Buffy, "Some Assembly Required"_

The three friends spent the next week basking in each other's company and attempting to forget the fact that awful things were happening in the outside world. Despite the constant reminders they had in the way of members of the Order Apparating to the Burrow at all hours and Mrs. Weasley seeming to be in a constant state of worry whenever her husband left the house, they did a fairly good job of it. Hermione had brought several books with her, and spent much of her time pouring over the texts while the boys played game after game of wizard chess or exploding snap. Harry found himself constantly amazed at her dedication. They hadn't yet received their O.W.L. results and already she was studying for her possible N.E.W.T. level classes. 

"They're bound to be much more difficult," she lectured them one rainy evening as they all sat in the parlor, trying to relax. None of them were succeeding very well. Mr. Weasley had been called in on an emergency for the Order, and everyone was concentrating hard on Mrs. Weasley's clock, which proclaimed that the subject in question was "at work." Ginny sat before the fire, attempting to mend her school robes the old fashioned way, with needle and thread while Mrs. Weasley clattered around in the kitchen making supper, obviously in an advanced state of agitation. Harry and Ron were engaged in an epically long game of wizard's chess; normally Ron would have crushed Harry after over an hour of play, but Ron's concentration had faltered so badly out of nervousness that Harry was actually putting up a decent defense. 

It was Ron's move, and Harry couldn't help but think his friend was taking rather longer to decide than he normally did. Bored, Harry leaned over and peeked at the title of Hermione's book. It was Bill's old copy of _Advanced Tranfiguration_. Wrinking his nose at the title, Harry snatched the book from her lap and glanced over the text. "When transfiguring the inanimate into mammels, one must always be aware of the ways in which the circulatory system..." Harry stopped reading abruptly and shut the book. "Hermione," he complained, "this is ridiculous. Its vacation. If you're going to read, at least read something fun. No more studying! I've got _Quidditch through the Ages_ in my trunk," he offered. 

Hermione glared at him for suggesting Quidditch, but her face quickly broke into a grin. "Oh, all right. I'll stop studying. I don't suppose it'll do any good, without knowing which subjects I'll be in anyway. But while we're at it, there's something we need to discuss." She looked hard at the other three, her mouth thinning into a determined line. 

Ginny colored and started to stand. "Fine, fine. I can see you want me gone," she huffed, throwing down her robes which, if anything, looked slightly worse off for her having tried to mend them. 

Hermione shook her head. "No, Ginny. I think we all agree that after the Department of Mysteries, well, there's nothing we need to hide from each other." 

Ron flushed, and seemed about to speak, but kept quiet at a look from Hermione. Harry could tell his friend wanted Ginny gone. She was his younger sister, and Harry knew Ron felt protective of her, despite the amount of teasing he heaped on her. Harry couldn't look Hermione in the eye. He was hiding something from her, and he felt guilty about it, but his friends would only be in danger if they knew about the prophecy. Harry knowing was one thing--Voldemort already had it in for him. But the others were safer not knowing, no matter how relieved he would feel to tell them. 

Harry cleared his throat. "What's going on, then?" he said, trying to ease the tension a bit. "New plans for recruiting more members to spew?" 

Ron cracked a smile, but Hermione remained resolutely straight faced. "House Elf abuse is a serious issue, Harry, one you shouldn't take so lightly. And it's S-P-E-W! But no, I want to talk about the D.A." 

Harry and Ron exchanged glances. What did she mean by that? The D.A. seemed to Harry as if it had happened in another life, a bunch of kids trying to be rebels and learn to defend themselves against Voldemort. Harry felt nauseous at the thought. Having seen the duel between Voldemort and Dumbledore in June, he felt sure he knew which of them would survive when the time came for him to face his fate. His resolve hardened as he pushed away the thoughts. Sirius had _died_ to save him, and there was no way Harry was going to waste that sacrifice, even if was his own fault Sirius had had to make it. Voldemort had driven him to it, and he would pay for that, even if all that meant was Harry getting in his way and slowing him down a bit. Both Voldemort and Bellatrix Lestrange would pay for what they had taken from him, taken from Sirius. At the thought of the woman who had killed Sirius, an overwhelming sense of hatred and anger rushed over him. The feelings scared him--never before had he felt such an intense desire to hurt someone--but he also reveled in them, knowing that they would give him the strength he needed to revenge Sirius. 

Hermione took a deep breath. "I think we should continue it. Not as a secret society anymore, of course. Dumbledore will let usgather officially I'm sure. Last June made it obvious," her voice wavered a bit, and Harry had the distinct impression that she was having a hard go of it trying to hold herself together, "that we're not ready yet. Not to face Death Eaters, and certainly not to face Voldemort." 

Ron broke in, indignant, "You make it sound as if we failed miserably, Hermione! If it hadn't been for us going, Malfoy and all his Death Eater pals would still be on the loose. Who knows how many muggleborns they'd have attacked by now!" 

Harry shook his head, but before he could speak, Ginny piped in. "That wasn't us Ron. That was the Order, and Dumbledore. We were lucky to get out of there alive." She sounded grim, as if realizing only at that moment how close they had all come to snuffing it at the Ministry. 

"My point is, we need to do more. We need to keep practicing, keep learning. Even if we have a great Defense professor next year," she smirked slightly, "and let's face it, the possibilities of that are about as good as Harry's aunt inviting us all for tea, we'll still need to know more, to practice more. We're not ordinary students anymore, we can't afford to learn only the things Hogwarts can teach us. We're in the middle of a war, and we have to be able to defend ourselves in it." 

Harry found himself nodding--her words were what he had been thinking of only moments before. "I hate to sound like a hypocrite, as I've just finished telling Hermione off for studying," he said finally, "but this is going to mean a lot of research. We'll need to find spells, any spells, that can help us. Protection charms, potions, anything that could possibly be used against the Death Eaters." He sent a fleeting smile toward Ginny, who was looking at him with a strange glint in her eyes. "Maybe you'll reconsider wanting to join in our schemes, now you know it'll involve work." 

"Its not that," Ginny muttered, shaking her head so that a few strands of her fiery hair escaped from the clip holding the rest back. "I'm just glad to be able to do something to help, even if it does seem more like a detention from McGonagall than an adventure." 

They began that night directly after supper. Hermione and Ginny lugged all their school books to Ron's room, in addition to Hermione's extensive collection of everything from _Beginner's Alchemy_ to _Most Potente Potions_, a volume which, Hermione told the other three proudly, she had tricked her mother, who was a muggle, into buying for her despite its dangerous contents. "Mum had no idea," she said in satisfaction, blithely ignoring the looks of awe and shock on her friends' faces. "Its a really rare volume, and the moment I saw it in the display at Flourish and Blott's, I knew I had to have it." 

"Blimey, Hermione! That's got illegal potions in it, that has. If you got caught brewing any of them..." Ron trailed off, shaking his head. 

"Oh don't be such a prat, Ron, of course I won't use it to make anything illegal. I'm not about to go getting myself thrown into Azkaban or," she shuddered slightly, "expelled. But a lot of these potions are quite useful, and there's no way Snape would introduce any of them before seventh year." 

"I reckon you've gone mad," Ron told her, clearly impressed. "What happened to the Hermione I know? You know, the one that would _die_ before breaking a school rule?" 

Hermione grinned mischeviously. "She's gone on holiday for the time being. Went terribly mad with stress during Spring term and tried to invade the Ministry. I do hope the poor thing recovers soon." 

Harry sprawled on his camp bed, one of the volumes Sirius and Lupin had given him the Christmas before open on his pillow. Trying to drown out the sound of Ron and Hermione verbal sparring, he concentrated instead on the words before him. Some of the spells the authors recommended were quite useful. They outlined the basic method for a Healing Spell, which would cure small cuts and burns, but nothing major. They'd need something that could cure bigger wounds, maybe even heal bones, if their last encounter with Death Eaters was any indication. He jotted the spell down anyway--it never hurt to know the basics. 

What he was really hoping to find, he thought to himself, frowning as he turned the page, was something resembling the spell the Death Eater had used on Hermione in June. He shivered slightly, remembering the shocked look on her face and the deathly stillness of her body as she lay helpless on the floor. The spell was awful, but if the Death Eaters had it, then they needed to have it too, or at least find a way to defend against it. 

But how to defend against the worst spell of all--_Avada Kedavra_? Harry took off his glasses briefly, rubbing the bridge of his nose tiredly. His head ached after what seemed like hours of pouring through books, and suddenly it all seemed so pointless to him. They were up against the Killing Curse, against which there was no defense--how could they possibly hope to win? Lately he'd simply felt too tired to be angry any longer, and he desperately needed the rage that had filled him even during those long sleepless nights on Privet Drive in June, nearly a month after Sirius had died. As he drifted into a restless sleep, his mind focused on the thought he'd had earlier that day; regardless of how hopeless his situation seemed, he had to try, if not to protect his friends, than for Sirius. 

***************

Harry awoke with a sudden start, surprised to find that he'd only been asleep for a few hours. His dreams had been strange and confused: one minute he was flying on his Firebolt high above the Quidditch pitch at Hogwarts while his old Quidditch captain, Oliver Wood, told him he was the best Seeker he'd ever seen, the next he was being forced to perform in a play as Neville Longbottom in pink robes and a moldy old wig. 

He shook his head, trying to clear his mind of sleep, noticing as he did so that Ginny had fallen asleep on the floor while looking over a book about hexes and how to fight them. Strands of her hair had somehow managed to get into her mouth, and she was drooling all over an illustration of the Hurling Hex, Harry noticed with a grin. Ron and Hermione were still awake, both slumped on Ron's bed as they paged through books, occasionally jotting down a few notes or huffing excitedly at a particular good find. 

"Listen to this," Hermione exclaimed excitedly. She had elected to look through the controversial _Most Potente Potions_, and had apparently been making good progress. Harry didn't know how much potions could help them in a pinch, but if it were a planned attack on the Order's part, or something that could be bottled and used instantly, it could be of use. 

"What's that?" Harry questioned groggily, still wiping the sleep from his eyes. 

"Oh good, you're awake. Listen to this. It's a sort of resistance potion, lessens the effect of certain spells." 

Harry perked up. That did sound like a very useful potion. It wasn't a complete solution to defending against Death Eaters, but Harry didn't really expect to find that. Still, this would help, give them a bit of an edge. "Which spells does it protect against?" he asked. 

"Nothing major, not _Avada Kedavra_ of course, no defense against that, but several hexes and jinxes." She grinned at Ron. "It'll protect you against that slug-vomiting hex, in case you ever manage to produce it with working wand." 

Ron flushed and turned back to his book, muttering. Harry laughed to himself, remembering the slug incident and the horrified look on Ron's face everytime he'd puked up a slug that day. 

"Found anything else useful?" Harry asked. 

"A few things that might be helpful. A speed and agility potion, but that will only work if we know we're going into a fight, a draught to protect against snake venoms--I thought that one particularly useful, considering Voldemort's propensity for snakes, and," she flourished her sheet of parchment proudly, "I've found the Chronos Concoction!" 

Harry and Ron stared at her blankly, while Ginny sat up yawning, having been awakened by Hermione's excited pronouncement. "What's going on?" she asked sleepily, not even attempting to straighten her hair, which had fallen down haphazardly as she slept. 

"What's the Chronos Concoction?" Harry asked. 

"It's a potion that, if used correctly, will preserve the drinker in his present state for one hour. The person won't be able to do much, as it has a sort of paralyzing side effect, but if they're injured or something, they won't get any worse." 

Harry was impressed with Hermione's thoroughness and knack for finding useful spells. In his fourth year, when he was competing in the Triwizard Tournament, she'd helped him find several useful spells as well. Ron looked excited at the find, and immediately began coming up with more uses for the potion, but Ginny was frowning. 

"Hermione, that potion sounds extremely difficult. How are we even going to find all the ingredients?" she asked, reaching for the book and scanning the list. She let out a low whistle. "I've never even heard of half this stuff!" 

Hermione huffed and grabbed her book back from the younger girl, but Harry just shrugged. "We'll find whatever we need, and Hermione is brilliant. I'm sure she'll be able to brew this. After the Polyjuice..." he trailed off, belatedly realizing that Ginny might be shocked to know that they had brewed a potion illegally in their second year that had transformed Harry and Ron into Slytherins. 

Ginny didn't look shocked, however, she looked impressed. "You made Polyjuice Potion?" she asked, her voice full of awe. "That's advanced magic, that is. Above N.E.W.T. level, even." 

Hermione flushed, burying her nose back in her book. "Ron and Harry helped," she said. 

"Well, I've found a few things as well," Ginny said. "A handy charm that will ionize the atmosphere in a fifty foot radius, which will allow muggle electrical devices to work in magical places." She lifted her eyebrows at the other's stunned expression. "What, a witch can't know anything about muggle stuff? I'm in Muggle Studies," she explained, "and besides, I figure there's no way the Death Eaters will touch muggle things, much less consider how they could be useful. But I was thinking it would be good to have those head sets that muggle police use to communicate, that way if we got separated like we did in the Department of Mysteries, we'd be able to find each other more easily." 

Hermione and Harry were both nodding enthusiastically. Harry immediately began imagining the different muggle devices they could use against the Death Eaters. Infra red goggles, smoke bombs, jet packs... He grinned, remembering all the times he'd hidden on the stairway while his aunt, uncle, and cousin watched Dudley'd favorite James Bond films. Hermione seemed to be thinking along the same lines, but her brow was furrowed. "Spy stuff would be really useful, but it'll be really hard for a bunch of underage kids to find anything like that in England." 

Harry frowned. "Well, keep thinking about it, we'll figure something out. Did you find anything else?" he asked Ginny. 

"Oh, loads of hexes and curses that might be useful, a few blockers and shielding spells..." 

Harry nodded. "Well, we'll keep looking. We've got a long summer ahead of us. What else have we got to do? Well, all right, there's always Quidditch." 

*****************

The days seemed to fly by as Harry, Ron, and Ginny searched all their books for anything that might be useful. They even snuck a few volumes from Ron's parents' collection to scour for information. Hermione had left after two weeks, telling them earnestly that she wished she could stay and help with the research, but she felt she had to spend more time with her parents before the term began. Harry was sad to see her go, but he knew that if his parents were alive, he'd want to be with them too. 

Hermione's absence left a hole in the group that the remaining three tried to ignore by researching even harder and later into the nights. Harry knew the others were thinking the same thing he was--that if anyone's family was in danger, it was Hermione's. Her parents had no way of protecting themselves against Death Eaters, and Harry suspected that she'd left the Burrow so quickly more out of fear for them than a desire to see them. Harry had thought he understood what it meant to be under pressure, but when he thought about Hermione's situation, he realized that her position was far more stressful. His friends could at least protect themselves, and Sirius had been a far more advanced wizard than Harry, whereas Hermione's parents were muggles, completely defenseless against Voldemort's supporters. 

The whole situation filled Harry with a whole new kind of anger. It simply wasn't fair that Hermione had to worry like this! It wasn't fair that her parents were in danger simply because she happened to be a witch. It wasn't fair, and it wasn't right, and the injustice of it made Harry even more determined to make Voldemort pay for what he'd done to his family and friends. 

As August came to a close, Mrs. Weasley decided to take Harry, Ron, and Ginny to Diagon Alley to buy their school things. Their letters from Hogwarts arrived only the day before, much to Ron's dismay. He'd told Harry privately that he was quite sure he'd failed his History of Magic and Astronomy O.W.L.s. He was worried about his mum's reaction. She took schoolwork quite seriously, and simply remembering the diatribe she'd launched at Fred and George upon receiving their O.W.L. results was enough to make Ron feel a bit queasy. They all sat at the scrubbed wooden table in the kitchen, enjoying a rare breakfast with Mr. Weasley, who was usually at work long before the others woke up, when the owl arrived, bearing a letter each for Ron, Harry, and Ginny. 

Ginny opened hers right away, making a face at the list of books she'd have to buy for next term. Harry noticed Mrs. Weasley staring at her youngest intently, and he was sure she was wondering if Ginny, like Ron, had been made a prefect. "This lot won't come cheap," she remarked to the table at large, scanning her book list. "But at least I won't have to worry about prefect duties in my O.W.L. year!" she said with a relieved sigh, folding her letter and shoving it haphazardly back into its envelope. 

Mrs. Weasley shook her head disconsolately. "Oh, Ginny. I'd really hoped you'd do better than this! Dumbledore must not think you're responsible enough, or dedicated enough... I hope he's not thinking you're too much like Fred and George to be made prefect!" she exclaimed. 

Harry flushed at her words, embarrassed for both Ginny and himself. He knew how she must be feeling--after all, he hadn't been made a prefect the year before either, while both Ron and Hermione had. He'd felt bad about it for a while, until he'd discovered that his father hadn't been a prefect either, nor had Sirius. 

"You'll have enough on your plate with Quidditch as it is," Harry told her. "We'll have so many new players this year, I'm sure whoever's made captain will work us like mad." 

Mr. Weasley frowned at his wife. "Now Molly," he said sternly, "don't go giving Ginny any silly ideas about taking up where the twins left off. She's a good student, nearly top in her class!" he added proudly. "In fact, I think her marks deserve some sort of a treat. What would you say to a new set of robes, eh?" 

Ginny flashed a grateful smile at her father. "That would be lovely. My old ones are beyond repair, I think. I tried to mend them but..." she trailed off, shrugging. Harry felt a spurt of guilt go through him. He knew the Weasleys had very little money to pay for things like new robes and school books, while he had a small fortune in a locked vault in Gringotts. He resolved to buy both Ginny and Ron something, maybe for being so loyal to him and insisting upon coming along to the Ministry to rescue Sirius. He supposed he should really buy gifts for Hermione, Luna, and Neville as well. He smiled to himself, thinking it might be fun to find something for Luna, who had eccentric tastes to say the least. 

Both Harry and Ron fingered their letters all through breakfast, neither one really wanting to end the suspense of knowing their O.W.L. results. Mrs. Weasley shot them eager, knowing glances throughout the meal, obviously burning to see their O.W.L. results but reluctant to push them. Harry wanted these moments to last, while he could still delude himself into believing he'd passed Potions and would be able to study to be an Auror. They'd all finished breakfast, and Mrs. Weasley was clearing the dishes, when Ginny snatched Ron's envelope from his numb fingers. 

"Oh come on!" she said impatiently, breaking the seal and pulling out several sheets of parchment. "Mum and Dad are going to hex you soon if you don't get on with it!" she added, scanning the pages. 

Ron snatched them back, ruffling through the sheets to find the results to the exams they'd taken in June. Harry stared thoughtfully at his own envelope before breaking the seal with a sigh and pulling out the contents. His envelope was lighter than Ron's, probably because it didn't have any of the prefect information Ron's did. He skipped passed the letter welcoming him to a new term at Hogwarts, passed his booklist, which seemed longer than usual, to the final page: 

_Dear Mr. Potter,  
The Examination Board is pleased to announce that you have passed six subjects with a 'P' or better. We would like to encourage you to continue your studies and hope to see you again at the N.E.W.T. examinations. Your results are as follows:  
Defense Against the Dark Arts- Outstanding  
Transfiguration-Exceeds Expectations  
Charms-Exceeds Expectations  
Astronomy-Dreadful  
Care of Magical Creatures-Exceeds Expectations  
Herbology-Outstanding  
History of Magic-Dreadful  
Divination-Dreadful  
Potions-Acceptable  
Good luck in the future!  
Sincerely-  
Madame Griselda Marchbanks  
Head Examiner_

Harry stared hard at his last score, an Acceptable in Potions, feeling his dreams of becoming an Auror slip through his fingers. He should have studied harder, should have paid more attention in Snape's class! McGonagall had made it very clear to him during his career consultation that he'd need an "Outstanding" in Potions in order to be accepted into Snape's N.E.W.T. level class, a class he needed in order to qualify for Auror training. He stared disconsolately at the remains of his eggs, wondering if there was any possible way he could appeal to Snape. 

Ron looked over at him. "You look how I feel, mate," he said, his voice threaded with disappointment. "I only got an 'E' in Potions, and an 'A' in Transfiguration. There's no way McGonagall or Snape will let me into their N.E.W.T. classes." 

Harry was relieved to know that he'd at least done better than Ron in Transfiguration, then felt a brief stab of guilt for enjoying the fact that he'd bested his friend at something. "I won't get into Snape's class either, I only got an 'A.' But McGonagall might let you in." He smiled, remembering his encounter with her the year before after having been given a week's worth of detention from their hideous Ministry-appointed Defense teacher, Umbridge. McGonagall had given him biscuits and treated him kindly, even seemed worried about him. "She seems tough and unbending, but she can be quite reasonable. I'd write to her if I were you, beg to be in the class and promise she can kick you out if you're not doing well enough." 

Ron nodded. "That might work, but what about Snape? You know we need that class if we want to be Aurors..." 

Harry sighed. "Well, maybe we can get Dumbledore to pull some strings and get us in." He laughed. "I never thought I'd see the day when we'd be begging to get into Snape's class!" 

"_Professor_ Snape, dear," Mrs. Weasley admonished him as she sat down at the table, having finished clearing the breakfast things. "Let's see your scores then," she said sternly, reaching across the table and plucking the sheet of parchment from Ron's fingers. 

While the Weasleys discussed Ron's scores, Mrs. Weasley being thoroughly scandalized by his results in Divination and History of Magic, Harry glanced over the other contents of his letter. The book list, as Ginny had noted, was quite long, and included titles he'd never even heard of, much less seen at Flourish and Blotts. There were a few books he'd expected, such as _Advanced Transfiguration_ and _The Theory Behind the Swish and Flick: A Guide to Complex Charms,_ but the books for Defense Against the Dark Arts were completely unfamiliar to him. Ginny noticed him looking over his list. "What do you suppose this is all about?" she asked him, frowning down at her own list. "_Beginner's Guide to Meditation_? _Channeling Crystals and How to Use Them_? _Grimmoire_, standard edition?" "And what's this all about?" Harry commented. "_Invoking the Four Points: A Beginner's Guide to the Spirit World_... Ginny, all this sounds like the kind of stuff muggles buy at those New Age stores. And look at the other requirement, something called a 'defensive ingredients and materials packet.'" 

Ginny shrugged. Neither of them knew what to make of the new supplies requirements, but it was obvious that Dumbledore had found someone to teach their Defense class this term. At least, Harry thought to himself with a relieved sigh, they wouldn't have to deal with another Ministry Official who wouldn't let them do any magic. 

They traveled for Diagon Alley the following day by Floo powder, arriving in the Leaky Cauldron covered in soot, but otherwise in good spirits. Harry and the Weasleys had arranged to meet Hermione and her parents there for a quick lunch before setting off to buy their school supplies. 

Tom, the bar tender at the Leaky Cauldron set them up with a long table in a more private back room. Hermione and her parents were waiting for them when they arrived, and Harry felt a surge of relief go through him at the sight of her. She looked exhausted and worried, but a smile broke over her face when she saw them, and she gave them all long hugs that were just short of suffocating. 

The Weasley twins, who had their joke shop premises in Diagon Alley, joined them for lunch. Looking around at the people gathered together, Harry felt he had been reunited with his family again. He felt a surge of sadness that Sirius wasn't there to enjoy the meal with them, but he was also grateful that nothing had happened, that no one else had been lost, in the past few months. 

After stuffing themselves with Tom's excellent food, Ron, Harry, Hermione, and Ginny all went off to buy their school things, while the rest of their party went to have a look at Fred and George's joke shop. At Flourish and Blott's they found all the books they needed, even the more unusual ones which, the wizard at the counter informed them in a scandalized tone, they'd had to order in specially from a muggle store in London proper. 

Their next stop was the Apothecary, where they were to buy the special defense packet they were required to have. "What's in this, exactly?" Harry asked the wizard who was gathering packets for the four of them, metal canisters about the size of the average cauldron. 

The wizard gave them a funny look. "We've never carried anything like this before," he commented to them as the four of them exchanged confused glances. "All sorts of herbs, some of 'em your basic potion ingredients, others just what seem like dried flowers and cookin' spices to me. Then some crystals, all different colors, chalk, bunch o' candles and such. Makes a feller wonder what they're teachin' yeh up at that school..." 

Harry paid for his packet and they left the store, eager to be away from the Apothecary's questioning eyes. Hermione frowned as they made their way toward Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions. As they waited in the sitting room while Ginny got fitted for her new robes, Hermione voiced what the other two had been thinking. "But what exactly _is_ it they'll be teaching us this term? All of these things, the books and supplies, none of it is in any spell book I've ever read." She frowned and lowered her voice so that the other costumers couldn't hear her. "It sounds to me as if Dumbledore is planning to teach us Wicca. But that's all stuff and nonsense, isn't it?" 

Ron looked at her blankly, clearly having no idea what Hermione was talking about. Harry tried to explain. "Wicca is a sort of religion for muggles who fancy themselves witches. They draw a lot of pentagrams in the dirt and call on goddesses and such to do spells for them. But Hermione's right, its all a big joke. There were a few kids in my primary school who fancied themselves Wiccans, holding séances and sacrificing mice and things." 

Ron shook his head. "I knew Dumbledore was nutters, but I never guessed he'd pull anything like this on us. Muggles performing magic! Its just ridiculous." 

Hermione huffed. "Don't be such a bigot, Ron! Just because you come from a long line of wizards doesn't make you better than anyone else!" 

"That' not what I'm saying!" Ron exclaimed heatedly. "You're not a muggle, and I don't think any less of them. But they can't do magic, right?" 

"Well," said Harry, not wanting Hermione and Ron to have a row when he still had to spend the rest of the day with them, "Dumbledore obviously thinks there something to this, and he's got a reason for having us learn it. We'll just have to trust him, and see what happens." 

When Ginny finished, flushed with the excitement of her first set of completely new robes, the rest set off the explore the shops a bit before they were set to meet at the joke shop before dinner. Harry made an excuse about wanting to withdraw some money from his Gringott's account and escaped the others so he could buy them their presents without them asking questions. 

He had fun looking through the shops and trying to find things for his friends. They were all so different that it was a challenge shopping for them, but in the end he was quite satisfied with his purchases. For Ron he'd bought a hand carved chessboard inlaid with small squares of obsidian and quartz stone to form the checkerboard pattern. He bought Hermione a book on how to organize lobbying and political groups; he thought she might be able to take S.P.E.W. to the next level with a bit of help. For Neville he found an excellent book on magical desert plants. He was particularly pleased with his gift for Luna. In an out of the way shop filled with young witches and wizards of the decidedly punk variety, he came across a school bag made entirely of bottle caps that changed color to form pictures of famous wizarding musicians, including, Harry was delighted to see, Stubby Bordman. 

As he was paying for the bag, he heard his name being called from across the shop. "Wotcher, Harry!" cried Tonks, waving frantically over the crowd of shoppers. Harry finished paying then made his way over to Tonks, giving her a grin. She blended in really well with the other shoppers, among which Harry felt distinctly out of place wearing his old Dudley cast offs. Tonks's hair was blue and spiky, just as it had been the night he had met her a year ago in the Dursley's back hall. He shook his head--he could hardly believe a year had gone by from that night. 

"Hey Tonks," he greeted her. "How's everything thing with, er, everything?" he asked, motioning her out of the shop. He realized suddenly that she hadn't been at his birthday party, and wondered if she'd been doing something for the Order that night. 

"I've been swamped with work," she confessed to him as they made their way toward the joke shop. "Now that You-Know-Who has been outted, his supporters have wasted no time wreaking havoc at the Ministry. Its all we can do to keep the Death Eaters we caught last June in Azkaban, now that the Dementors have abandoned the place. We're kept busy round the clock, investigating suspected Death Eaters, trying to find the ones that escaped last spring, and trying to keep the ones we caught in prison." 

Harry nodded. He'd wondered how they would guard Azkaban once Voldemort lured the Dementors to his side. He wouldn't fancy being an Auror right now. Taking a closer look at Tonks, he realized with a pang that she looked exhausted. 

"Hang on a minute," Harry said as they passed the Animal Menagerie. "I need to stop in there and pick something up." 

"I'll join you," Tonks said. "My owl is getting old, I've been looking for a new one." 

They entered the shop and were immediately assaulted by a barrage of animal calls. After much thought, Harry had finally decided to get Ginny a cat, as she liked Crookshanks so much. He looked over the wall of cats to the left of the door, his eyes immediately lighting upon a cat that hissed and spat upon seeing him. He walked up to its cage and stared at the animal, who stared right back with the ugliest eyes Harry'd ever seen on an animal. One eye was mud brown, the other one pale blue. Its face was long and aristocratic looking, its fur white and sleek. 

"What's its name?" he asked the shop keeper, holding his fingers up to the cage for the cat to sniff. It took a few steps forward, its head lowered in suspicion to take a whiff of Harry's fingers. It hissed once more then, seeming satisfied that Harry wasn't going to attack, licked his finger with its rough tongue. Harry grimaced and wiped his fingers on his pants. 

"That one doesn't have a name, poor thing," the shopkeeper told Harry. "Found her on the street outside, abandoned, and once I'd fed her she wouldn't leave me be." She approached the cage and lifted out the small cat, who immediately began climbing up the witch's robe to perch on her shoulder magestically. "Powerfully magical, this one is," the witch told him in a hushed voice. "Suspect she may be a kneazle, even." 

"I'll take her then," Harry said, thinking that if anyone could break through the cat's cool, haughty exterior, it would be Ginny. 

***********

Although Harry had planned to wait until term began before giving his friends their gifts, the cat carrier gave him away, and he couldn't very well hide the cat from Ginny for another two weeks, especially as it had taken to hissing at everything and everyone that passed it by. 

"Harry!" Hermione exclaimed upon seeing him and Tonks enter the store, each carrying a cage. Tonks had bought a lovely Tawny owl to replace her old one, which was in bad need of a rest. "Did you buy a cat?" 

The rest of the Weasleys, Hermione's parents, and even some of the joke shop patrons were all staring at him. "Er, yes. But its not for me. Here," he said, blushing ferociously and handing the basket to a shocked Ginny. 

She peeked inside the carrier and squealed with delight. "Oh Harry, she's beautiful! And friendly!" Ginny giggled as the cat, to Harry's great surprise, eagerly licked at her fingers. "But, why did you do this? " she asked, her hazel eyes boring into his. 

He handed Ron and Hermione their gifts as well. He hadn't wanted to do this in front of everyone else, but he couldn't very well give Ginny her present and not the others. The parents, sensing his discomfort, began a loud conversation about the weather, while Fred showed Tonks around the shop and George rang up a sale. 

"This is great!" Hermione gasped excitedly, paging through her book. 

Ron gave a low whistle. "Harry, mate, this is too much! Why'd you get us this stuff?" he asked. They all stared at him, curious and confused. 

He flushed an even deeper red, if it was possible. Staring at his feet, he told them, "I just wanted you to know how much I appreciate what you did for me, back in June. Going with me to the Ministry," he paused, taking a turn to look each of them in the eye, "it was above and beyond the call of friendship. It's the least I could do." 

"This is really nice, Harry," Hermione said softly, "but you can't go on feeling guilty about putting us in danger. We've discussed this, and I won't have you feeling bad about it anymore! Just remember this one extremely important rule next time you get some mad idea in your head." 

"What's that?" Harry asked, humbled by his friend's declaration. 

"I'm always right," she declared with a grin. 

Hermione gave him a teary hug, while Ginny and Ron beamed at him. He showed them all what he'd gotten Neville and Luna, and they all laughed over the bottle cap school bag. "She'll love it!" Ginny told him with a smile. 

***********

All in all it had been a long day, and by the time the returned by Floo to the Burrow, Harry was ready to skip his nightly research and go straight to bed. Just as he was getting ready to change into his pajamas a knock came at the door, and Mrs. Weasley poked her head in. "Harry dear," she said, a worried look in her eyes, "Professor Dumbledore is here. He'd like to speak with you." 

Harry exchanged a surprised glance with Ron, as if to say, "What's happened this time?" and left quickly, not wanting to keep Dumbledore waiting, as he probably had more important things to do than chat with students. If he was honest with himself, Harry knew he was no ordinary student, and this was unlikely to be an ordinary chat about his health and how his summer had gone, but he still felt a little guilty taking up Dumbledore's time. 

Dumbledore was pacing in front of the fireplace when Harry arrived, dressed in flowing green robes with glittering gold stars embroidered at the cuffs and hem. "Ah, Harry," Dumbledore said with a small smile, indicating a chair for Harry to sit in. The old wizard took the seat opposite Harry across the table. "Its good to see you again. I trust you've had a better summer than your last?" 

Harry shrugged and looked away from his Headmaster, unable to quite meet the man's eyes, trying not to remember the fact that last summer, despite a Dementor attack and a ministry hearing, had been spent with Sirius. "Thank you for letting me come to the Burrow so quickly. I know its safer at Privet Drive, but..." His voice was dull and lifeless. His anger at the Headmaster had spent itself out, but Harry was still having a hard time trusting the old wizard the way he used to. Before it had been so easy, so uncomplicated. Dumbledore had seemed infallible; nothing truly terrible could happen as long as Dumbledore was around, the only wizard Voldemort had ever feared. But now, after the Third Task, and particularly after the Department of Mysteries, Harry had ceased to see him as an untouchable force of good that would always prevail. Their conversation in the Headmaster's office a few months ago had changed everything. Not only was Dumbledore undeniably human, Harry realized, but he had made grave errors in judgement, errors that had cost people their lives. Harry couldn't stay mad at the old man, but neither could he completely forgive him. Dumbledore held up a wrinkled hand. "Say no more. Its always nicer to be with one's friends than with, well, people who don't appreciate you as they should." Harry could tell by his tone that Dumbledore didn't think very highly of the Dursleys and couldn't help but feel pleased by that thought. "But unfortunately, we have more than pleasantries to discuss tonight, I'm afraid." 

Harry nodded. He'd been expecting this. He didn't know what was coming, perhaps horrible news about more deaths, or maybe even something Dumbledore needed for him to do for the Order, but the words that came out of the old man's mouth were the last ones he expected--or wanted--to hear. "I am pleased to inform you that Professor Snape has agreed to continue your Occlumency lessons once school begins. Although you are now aware of where your connection with Voldemort can lead you, I still feel it is imperative that you be able to close your mind to him." 

"But Professor!" Harry sputtered, horrified at the idea of having to face Snape again after his visit to that awful memory in Snape's pensive the year before, "I can't, I won't! Snape and I, we just don't get along. He... he hates me!" 

Dumbledore sighed, his expression sad and thoughtful. "Professor Snape does not hate you, Harry, nor should you harbor any ill feelings toward him. I know you blame him partially for Sirius's death, but if you should blame anything, it should be the enmity that always existed between them. Both you and Professor Snape need to learn to set aside your differences, especially in this matter." He stared hard into Harry's eyes, the blue depths of his eyes cold and unflinching. "I cannot hope to impress upon you the importance of learning this skill Harry. It is vital to our cause." 

"Why can't you teach me, then?" Harry asked defiantly, beginning to feel some of the old anger rushing back to him. 

"It is as I told you in June in my office, Harry. To open your mind to me, in the presence of Voldemort, would be dangerous for both of us. However," he said, stroking his beard thoughtfully, "if you have progressed enough by the end of Fall term, perhaps I can take over for Professor Snape then. Would that be agreeable to you?" 

Harry's shoulders slumped and he nodded. "You know I can't say no, professor," he said, his voice bitter with defeat. His eyes lit up, and he raised his head slowly, an idea dawning in his brain. "However," he continued hopefully, "may I ask for something in return?" 

"I am not usually one to bargain with my students, Harry," Dumbledore commented with a small smile, "but I suppose you may ask. Whether or not I agree is an entirely different matter." 

"Let Ron and me into Snape's N.E.W.T. class. I know neither of us made 'Outstandings' on our O.W.L.'s," he continued hastily, before Dumbledore could interrupt, "but its been difficult for us to learn, with Snape glaring at us and constantly docking points from Gryffindor for no reason! And if we don't do well enough after Fall term, he can kick us out!" Harry finished desperately. He gazed pleadingly at the old wizard. "Please, sir! We need that class if we're going to be Aurors." 

Dumbledore sat thoughtfully, his long fingers steepled beneath his chin. "Very well," he said after several long minutes. "I will discuss the matter with Professor Snape." Harry smiled gratefully, thinking that there was no way Snape would refuse a request from Dumbledore himself. As Dumbledore stood to leave, he put a hand on Harry's shoulder, squeezing it in a comforting way. "And Harry, you must try this time. With all your will, which I know is formidable. You must try. Take care." 


	3. School Daze

Chapter 3: School Daze

_"The first day back. It always gets me. I mean, it's incredible. One day the campus is completely bare. Empty. The next, there are children everywhere. Like locusts. Crawling around, mindlessly bent on feeding and mating. Destroying everything in sight in their relentless, pointless desire to exist."_ _Principal Snyder, "When She Was Bad." _

"How are we getting to King's Cross, then?" Harry asked one morning at an early breakfast a few weeks later. He, Ginny, and Ron had spent the day before packing madly, trying to find all their belongings and especially all of the books they'd borrowed from Hermione, who would be livid if they lost any of them. The day had finally come for them to return to Hogwarts, and Harry couldn't help but feel relieved at the thought of being back inside the castle which was more home to him than anywhere else.

Mrs. Weasley couldn't quite meet his eyes as she answered, "Flooing to Headquarters, then taking a Muggle taxi to the station."

Harry managed to catch Ginny's gaze across the table briefly, but she quickly bent her head to stare into her porridge He knew they were all trying to be careful not to mention Sirius, but when they arrived at Grimmauld Place they'd have a job of it keeping him from thinking about his godfather, whose house it had been. Harry didn't know how he felt about returning to Sirius's house; Sirius had hated it there, and Harry didn't like to associate the dank, strange place with his godfather--it had been Sirius's prison, not his home. Harry felt his stomach clench with anger at the thought. He just hoped they'd be in and out as quickly as possible.

Harry and Ron dragged the trunks down the stairs to the kitchen, while Ginny gathered their animals and searched frantically for Hermione's copy of _Tricky Spells for Sticky Situations_. When everyone was finally ready and gathered in front of the fireplace, Mrs. Weasley opened a small pouch filled with Floo powder. She gave each of them a hard stare, saying sternly, "Now there'll be no messing around this year, do you hear me?" Ron rolled his eyes and Ginny muttered a sulking, "Yes, mum." "I don't want anything happening to you three on the way to the station. That is why I've arranged for some members of the Order to escort you. Alastor and" she sighed heavily, her voice tinged with disapproval, "Mundungus will meet you at Headquarters. I'll rest easier when you're all safe at Hogwarts again."

Harry was surprised to find that Mrs. Weasley wouldn't be accompanying them to Grimmauld Place. "Aren't you coming with us?" he asked.

Mrs. Weasley shook her head sadly. "I'd love to see you off, dear, but I've got some important things to do today, and I just can't make it to the station."

Harry and Ron exchanged significant glances. "Is it for the Order?" Ron asked as Mrs. Weasley gave him a hug.

"Never you mind," she said gruffly, pulling Ginny into a hug as well.

"C'mon, mum!" Ginny said. "Is it something to do with Voldemort?"

Harry found himself being engulfed in a long hug from Mrs. Weasley. "Curiosity killed the cat, young lady!" she chided Ginny, practically shoving the girl into the fireplace. Harry handed her her trunk, and she clutched the wicker basket containing her kitten, which she'd decided to name Diana, after the Greek Goddess of the hunt, while Mrs. Weasley held out the pouch of powder to her daughter.

"Satisfaction brought it back!" Ginny exclaimed, taking a pinch of powder. In a flash of green fire she was gone, her face a mask of curiosity and frustration at being denied such juicy information.

"Have a good term, Harry," Mrs. Weasley told him as he stepped into the fire. Her eyes shone with a brief glint of worry, then he too had disappeared in flames. Harry could feel his trunk banging against his right side and Hedwig's cage smacking against his left as fireplaces whirred by him before he was finally deposited in an unceremonious and sooty heap in the mammoth stone fireplace in the kitchen of Number 12, Grimmauld Place. Unfortunately his trunk sent him stumbling off balance as he appeared, sending him crashing into Ginny, who had only just stepped out of the fireplace as he arrived. They fell heavily onto the rough hewn stone floor of the kitchen, Ginny's elbow smacking into Harry's cheek as they landed in an ignominious pile of struggling limbs and tangled robes.

"Gerrof, Harry!" came Ginny's muffled voice as Harry struggled to pull his cloak free from beneath Ginny. It didn't help that his glasses had gone flying off his face sometime during the fall, and he couldn't see what he was doing.

"I'm trying to!" Harry yelled as Ginny shoved at him with quite a bit of strength for such a small person. "I can't see a sodding thing!"

He couldn't see anything, but he could certainly hear well enough to know that the kitchen was apparently full of people too busy laughing their heads off at him and Ginny to help them get untangled. With a frustrated growl Harry abandoned his robes and stood up unsteadily, accidentally stepping on Ginny as he did so, what part he couldn't be sure of, as he was still pretty much blind.

"Here you go, mate," Ron said, placing his glasses in his hand. Harry put them on, glaring at his best friend.

"You could've helped, you know!" he said angrily, glancing around the room to include both Moody and Mundungus Fletcher, who were both still chuckling a bit.

"It was more fun to watch you flail around," Ron said with a grin, helping Ginny up. Ron waved his arms around in the air, a pained expression on his face. "Oh, woe is me! Harry Potter has landed on me and I am all aflutter," He mocked in a high falsetto. "I would remove myself, but my glasses have conveniently disappeared," he continued in the deepest voice he could manage, "and now I must simply roll around the floor with you. Oh, the pain of it all!"

Ginny glared at Ron and made a very rude gesture with her right hand. "Ow, Harry! Look what you did to my hand!" she exclaimed, holding up her left hand , which was rapidly turning several different shades of purple.

"Sorry about that," he muttered, feeling equal parts bad for having hurt her and embarrassed at Ron's joking mockery.

"Before you go apologizing, Harry, you should see what she did to your cheek!" Ron exclaimed, giving a low whistle as he examined the bruise that was forming on Harry.

"I guess we're even then, eh?" Harry asked, grinning, then wincing as he felt the pain on his cheek from where Ginny had smashed her elbow into it.

"Enough chit chat," Moody said impatiently. "We need to get you three to the station. We'll be taking a Muggle cab, so you three will want to be taking off those robes. Don't want to look suspicious."

They did as they were told, then left the house quietly, trying not to wake up the portrait of Sirius's mum, which tended to scream nasty things at people. The cab was waiting for them, and as Moody and Dung loaded the boot with their trunks, Harry watched Number 12 getting smaller and smaller, until he could no longer see it. Slipping inside the cab beside Ginny and Ron, he realized with a pang that he hadn't thought once of Sirius while he'd been in his godfather's childhood home.

The journey from Platform 9 ¾ began rather uneventfully as Harry and Ginny searched for an empty compartment while Ron and Hermione wandered up toward the front of the train to talk to the other prefects. Harry poked his head into a car to find Neville alone, storing his trunk and attempting to calm Trevor, his toad. He and Ginny took seats across from Neville. "Mind if we join you?" Harry asked, glad to see the other boy. He was eager to give Neville the gift he'd gotten for him.

Neville gave them a small smile. "Sure Harry. How was your summer?" he asked, his voice a bit tremulous. Neville had been in the Death Chamber with Harry when Sirius had fallen through the veil. Harry was sure that Neville was wondering the same thing everyone else was--how he was handling Sirius's death.

Harry shrugged. "Nothing special, worked on some stuff for the D.A. and sat around. Hermione's already trying to get us studying for N.E.W.T.s, but so far I've managed to resist that particular temptation. I have something for you," he added, digging the book out of his bag and handing it over.

Neville flushed with pleasure. "Thanks, Harry!" he exclaimed, examining the table of contents. "This is really excellent."

Harry smiled, glad to see Neville so happy. Harry felt sorry for the other boy, who had lost his parents' health and sanity in the war against Voldemort. Harry knew what it was like to have no parents, but to have parents, and not have them recognize you or be able to talk to you... he almost thought that would be worse than no parents at all.

"It's the least I could do," Harry said simply, "to thank you for coming with me to rescue Sirius. I wouldn't have gotten out of there alive without your help."

Neville beamed at Harry's praise, and Harry had the distinct impression that he'd rarely been given that kind of encouragement before. At that moment Ron and Hermione entered the car, looking harassed, followed at a distance by Luna Lovegood who, Harry was astonished to see, had a shiny prefect badge pinned to her robes. It wasn't that Luna wasn't intelligent or anything--she was in Ravenclaw after all--but she did tend to drift around in her own world much of the time, and was considered decidedly odd by the entire school, even those students who liked her.

"Cursing Draco Malfoy into sludge would almost be worth a life sentence in Azkaban!" Hermione fumed, dropping into a seat in an angry huff. "He makes my skin positively crawl with loathing!"

Harry looked at Ron questioningly, but Ron just shrugged as if to say, "Who knows what she's on about this time?"

"He's just so incredibly arrogant!" she continued. "'I hear you spent half the summer with the Weasel, even your filthy Muggle parents can't stand you,'" she sneered, doing an excellent imitation of Malfoy. "He needs to be taught a lesson," she muttered angrily.

Harry's eyes hardened in anger at what Malfoy had said to his friend. "He does need to be taught a lesson," he agreed, looking at Ron. "We have to get him this year. Do something to pay him back for all the points he's gotten from Gryffindor, all the detentions he's gotten us... for Sirius."

Even Neville was nodding at the statement, a look of vindictive glee in his normally gentle eyes. Luna was staring dreamily out the carriage window, winding a long strand of blond hair around her wand. Harry didn't think she was even paying attention to their conversation when she said suddenly, "We need to expose him for what he truly is."

"But how?" Ginny asked, as she patted Hermione, who was still quite upset, comfortingly on the back.

Just then the car door opened and the subject of their discussion stepped into the carriage, accompanied by Crabbe and Goyle, his goon-like friends. "Planning how to become Dumbledore's favorite boy again, Potter?" he sneered, he grey eyes glaring into Harry's green ones. "Granger could give you some lessons in how to kiss up, as her lips seem to be permanently attached to Flitwick's ass."

"What are you going to give lessons in, Malfoy?" Ginny glared. "Advanced loser-being?"

"Yeah," Harry said almost casually, "when I'm Dumbledore's favorite again, he won't care when I _accidentally_ curse you into oblivion." He pulled his wand out of his sleeve, stroking it lightly. "I've decided which curse I want to use on you now," he added, a hard glint in his eyes.

"If it weren't for that ridiculous old Muggle-lover, you'd be dead before you knew what hit you, Potter."

"Your death threats are getting old, _Malfoy_," Harry sneered the name. "By the way, how's your dad enjoying prison?"

Malfoy's eyes flashed angrily, and he looked as if he might curse Harry right there. Just then the witch with the lunch trolley came by, wanting to know if any of them wanted anything. Malfoy glared at Harry, turning to go. "I'd watch your back, Potter," he said coldly, leaving them staring daggers as their eyes followed him out of the car.

"We'll get him," Ron muttered angrily, "If it's the last thing we do."

"Does he really think after what happened last June, that he can scare us with his petty threats?" Ginny questioned angrily, fingering her wand as if she'd like to chase after the Slytherins. Harry blinked, realizing for the first time that Ginny was there. He was surprised she wasn't with her boyfriend.

"Er, Ginny," Harry asked suddenly, his cheeks flushing red, "Why aren't you sitting with Dean? I thought... you said last June...?"

"Oh, that!" Ginny said with a mischievous giggle, pocketing her wand. "I just said that to annoy Ron, as he was being such a git at the time, trying to tell me who I can and cannot date!" Everyone except Ron laughed, forgetting their anger at Malfoy for the moment. Harry slumped in his seat with laughter as his best friend's face turned a horribly molted combination of red and purple. He didn't know why he should feel so relieved at Ginny's confession, but he pushed the thoughts aside for the time being. He had enough to think about as it was.

They hurried into the entrance hall of Hogwarts, their feet echoing on the stone flagging. Upon seeing the great staircase soaring upwards, the suits of armor creaking as they walked by, and even Peeves the Poltergeist cackling madly as he swooped down upon a group of second years, Harry felt warm and content--he was home.

He followed Hermione, Ron, and Ginny into the Great Hall, where Ginny waved good-bye to them and settled with her fifth year friends at the end of the table. Just as Harry was about to sit down with his own friends, Professor McGonagall cleared her throat behind him, looking stern.

"Mr. Potter," she said as he turned, looking at him over her spectacles. "Come with me, please." Turning on her heel, she strode toward the doors of the Great Hall. Shrugging at his friends' questioning glances, Harry followed his Head of House. He frowned to himself. What could his Transfiguration professor want with him on the first day? He couldn't have done anything wrong already, could he? And yet Professor McGonagall was looking very serious as they entered her office, indicating he should take a seat. Suddenly Harry remembered with a sickening lurch in his stomach the incident with the Slytherins on the Hogwarts Express last June. Could he possibly be being punished for cursing Malfoy into what greatly resembled a slug? But no, Ron and several members of the D.A. had helped in that. They would have been called to McGonagall's office too.

"Is something wrong, Professor?" Harry asked nervously. She had a definite look about her as if she were about to give him one of her lectures.

"I have some good news for you, Potter," she began, her face breaking into the smallest of smiles. "As you know, Miss Johnson has graduated, leaving the Gryffindor Quidditch team without a captain. I am pleased to inform you that the Headmaster has lifted the ban on your playing. If you are up to it, I'd like you to take up your place on the team as Seeker, as well as offer you the captaincy of the team."

Harry's worries disintegrated at her words and he smiled eagerly. Not only would he be flying again, he'd be captain! "Of course I'll do it!" he burst out, nearly yelling in his excitement.

McGonagall frowned. "I must impress upon you the seriousness of this position. It is a lot of responsibility, a lot of pressure for someone such as yourself. I know you already have extra lessons, and those must come first." She looked at him hard, her eyes serious. "However," she continued, a glint in her eyes, "I want to continue Gryffindor's winning streak as much as anyone else, and I trust you will not fail me. I don't relish handing this cup over to Professor Snape," she added, waving toward the gleaming Quidditch Cup in the back of her office, situated in a place of honor on the fireplace mantle.

"I won't let you down, Professor," Harry vowed, his brain already far away, going through the faces of his housemates and wondering who he could use to replace Angelina, who'd been a Chaser, and the two new Beaters they'd recruited last year, who were simply dismal.

"Very well," McGonagall said with a slight smile, standing. "Let's get back to the feast, then." She led the way to the Great Hall. As they reached the door, she turned to face him once more. "Oh yes," she said as almost an after thought, "your broom has been retrieved from the dungeons. It will be waiting for you in your dormitory."

"Thanks, Professor," Harry said excitedly. Quidditch captain! He grinned to himself as he ducked into the Great Hall, thinking that being Quidditch captain was far better than being a prefect. The Sorting was still going on as he slid onto the bench at the Gryffindor House table next to Ginny, who was chatting with her friends. He noticed Ron and Hermione farther up the table, but he didn't want to interrupt the ceremony by trying to make his way up to them.

"Damn," he muttered to himself, "I've missed the Sorting Hat's song."

Ginny turned to face him. "It was fairly standard," she shouted over the cheering students, clapping madly as Olsen, Philby, became a Gryffindor. "All about the houses needing to stick together and put aside their differences."

Harry searched out Draco Malfoy across a sea of heads at the Slytherin table, thinking that house unity would never be possible with the Slytherins at Hogwarts. The other boy had noticed Harry's late entrance and was treating him to his usual glare and sneer combination. Harry glared back, green eyes clashing with silver as the two boys fought a contest of wills, each unwilling to look away first.

Ginny elbowed him in the ribs rather harder than necessary and Harry turned his glare on his friend instead. She just rolled her eyes. "Oh please," she said. "You're so busy glaring at Malfoy you haven't even noticed what's going on at the head table."

Harry gave her a hard look just for good measure, and muttered something under his breath about the meanness of red heads, but looked up at the head table anyway. Travis, Halley, became the newest Hufflepuff. As she hurried over to her madly cheering new House, Harry's eyes swept past his Professors clapping politely, immediately lighting upon two young women seated to the left of the Headmaster, looking obviously nervous and out of place. The one directly to Dumbledore's left had bright red hair, almost as bright at Ginny's, that hung in a shiny cascade to her shoulders. Even from this distance, Harry could see the electric flash of her eyes, as green as his own. The girl seated next to her was smaller, almost frail looking, with blonde hair that curled softly about her shoulders. Her eyes her dark and luminous. Harry felt his stomach flip at the sight of them--he couldn't help but think they were both very pretty.

Ginny snorted, seeming to read his mind as he stared at the new professors. "You might want to stop gaping at them, Harry," she said dryly. "The red head is starting to notice."

Before Harry had time to be embarrassed, Professor Dumbledore stood up, tapping his goblet with his fork to get everyone's attention. The students seemed overly excited this year, and it took a few minutes before quiet settled over the hall.

"I know you are all eager to begin the year and most of all," he began, his eyes twinkling, "begin the feast! Therefore I will save the speeches until everyone has been properly fed and watered. Tuck in!"

With his last words the golden plates in front of them filled with food and the hall grew steadily louder as students caught up on the events of their summer holidays. "Who do you suppose they are?" Harry asked, stuffing a large forkful of Shepherds Pie into his mouth and nodding toward the head table.

"Well that's obvious, isn't it?" Ginny said, taking very delicate bites as if trying to demonstrate to Harry the proper way to eat. "One of them must be the new Defense teacher. I'm betting on the red head, as the blonde one looks like one well placed hex would do her in. Maybe the other one is teaching a new subject?"

Harry shook his head. Somehow he didn't think that was it. Surely Dumbledore would have sent an owl to everyone if they had the chance to take a new subject. "They're not wearing robes or hats," he commented, a slight strain of worry threading through his voice. "They... they look like Muggles, Ginny," he added, lowering his voice so the group of fifth years surrounding them couldn't hear. "What do you reckon Dumbledore is playing at? Those books we had to buy, the Muggles..." He frowned in worry. For the first time since entering the wizarding world, Harry wondered if Dumbledore was doing the right thing.

"How can you tell they're Muggles?" Ginny asked, frowning herself as she looked up at the head table. "Maybe they just don't like robes, and hats do tend to make one's hair go all fuzzy."

"They're obviously uncomfortable here," Harry pointed out, still stuffing food into his mouth at an unseemly rate. "Neither one of them have wands that I can see, and the blonde one keeps pointing out things to the other one, like the ceiling and the ghosts. Look, she's gaping at the Bloody Baron right now. What kind of witch has never seen a ghost before? Besides, they're young, not much older than us. If they're witches, they would've been at Hogwarts during our first year at least."

"Maybe they're foreign witches," Ginny argued, but was nonetheless staring at Harry, impressed. "I never knew you were so observant!" she said.

He looked at her, his eyebrows lifted slightly. "There's a lot about me you don't know," he pointed out, feeling a slightly guilty twinge at the hurt look in her eyes. Harry resolutely ignored it. He and Ginny had never been close, after all. Her crush on him his second and third years had made it nearly impossible for them to be friends. Now that all that seemed to be changing, Harry didn't want to jinx it by being careful around her, the way he'd done before. He met Ginny's eyes in a stare that seemed to last years, rather than seconds, before it was broken by the sound of Dumbledore tapping his goblet with his fork. Harry broke their gaze and looked toward the head table to see Dumbledore standing, his silver beard gleaming in the candlelight of the hall.

He smiled around at them. "Welcome to the start of a new term at Hogwarts! I have a few announcements. As you all should be well aware of by now, the Forest on the castle grounds is strictly forbidden. Any student caught going unsupervised into the Forest will be met with severe consequences, if his body is ever found, that is. I've been asked to remind you all that magic is not allowed in the corridors. Any student caught dueling will be given detention. And finally, I am pleased to introduce your new Defense Against the Dark Arts instructors, Professor Rosenburg," he smiled kindly, nodding at the red haired girl seated next to him, "and Professor Summers," he added, indicating the blonde haired girl. "Our new Professors are very unique and have much to teach you! I hope you will all give them your respect and attention for the next year. And now I see that you are all quite tired and you've had a long day. Good night, and good luck in your classes!" he said, dismissing them with a smile.

Harry didn't leave the Great Hall straight away. Ron and Hermione were herding the first years toward the doors. As they passed, Harry grabbed Ron by the arm, pointedly looking at the head table. Ron followed his friend's gaze. Professor Dumbledore was deep in conversation with the new Defense professors, but more interesting than that was their Potion Master's reaction to the two young women. Severus Snape, Hogwarts most feared and hated professor, looked almost... frightened! The thought of Snape being afraid of anything shook Harry more than he cared to admit, and he couldn't help but wonder what was so scary about two Muggle girls barely older than himself...

"Blimey, Harry!" Ron breathed excitedly. "Look at Snape! He looks like he'd like to run away from those girls. Its an improvement over his usual sneer, though," he added as they left the hall.

"What do you reckon this is all about?" Harry asked, his voice filled with concern. "We can't afford to lose another year of Defense training!" he added angrily.

"Calm down, mate," Ron said, giving the password to the portrait that guarded the secret entrance to Gryffindor tower. "That's what the D.A. is for, right?"

Harry nodded numbly, slumping into one of the squishy chairs by the fireplace. Hermione and Ginny had waited up for them, although most of the other Gryffindors had gone straight up to their dormitories to unpack.

"What did McGonagall want, anyway?" Ron asked, taking the chair next to Harry.

Harry brightened immediately. "She's lifted the Quidditch ban on me, and offered me the captaincy, as Angelina's graduated."

Ron gave a loud whoop and Ginny grinned, but Hermione looked worried. "That's a lot of responsibility, Harry," she said nervously. "You've already got extra lessons with Snape, and the D.A. meetings, in addition to your regular classes."

Harry felt a brief flash of anger at his friend, but smothered it resolutely. Hermione cared about him, he told himself. She just worried that he'd be taking on too much.

"You guys will just have to help me even more with the D.A.," he said, looking at each one of them in turn. He felt a little guilty at putting more responsibility on his friends, especially Ginny who had just begun her O.W.L. year, but they were all nodding excitedly.

"We've already found loads of great stuff, Harry!" Ron said excitedly. "Now that we're back at school we can start practicing the spells we found this summer so we can teach them to the D.A."

Harry grinned. "We're sort of like a planning committee," he said. "Hermione, how would you feel about being in charge of the potions? You could make the ones we've already found, and maybe do a little more research in your spare time. We can order some of the more rare ingredients by owl post."

Hermione nodded, her eyes gleaming at the thought of making such complicated potions. Harry shook his head. Hermione's passion for extra work never failed to amaze him.

"Ginny, Ron and I can divide the hexes and curses and things between us. I want to have our first meeting soon, maybe even this week if I can get permission from McGonagall," Harry said. "Now," he added softly, leaning forward in his chair, "what do you suppose the new Defense professors are all about?"

Hermione glanced around quickly, not wanting to be overheard, "They're Muggles," she said softly, matching Harry's tone. "Why would Dumbledore hire Muggles?"

Ron surprised them all with his next statement. "Maybe," he said, his face flushed with excitement, "maybe Muggles _can_ do magic!"

Ginny shook her head. "If they can, its not the kind of magic we're familiar with. They didn't have wands, for one thing, and as Harry pointed out to me, they'd never seen ghosts or anything like that before."

"Well I guess we'll find out soon enough," Hermione said with a yawn, standing. "I, for one, want to get a decent night's rest before classes start tomorrow. And you should too," she added, giving them a nagging glare. "I don't want you two depending on my notes again this year!"

"Fine, fine," Ron grumbled.

Once he and Harry had reached their dormitory Harry collapsed on his four poster gratefully, sighing happily as he looked around him. Dean, Seamus, and Neville had already pulled the curtains around their beds, but Harry knew his friends were there, and that this year none of them thought he'd gone mad. And best of all his Firebolt rested on top of the trunk at the end of his bed, gleaming in the faint moonlight. He fell asleep with a smile, thinking that this year was going to be far better that the last.

At breakfast the next morning the sixth year Gryffindors received their schedules. Harry was relieved to see that Potions was still on his, despite having only made an "Acceptable" on his O.W.L. Dumbledore must have succeeded in convincing Snape to let Harry and Ron into his N.E.W.T. class after all.

"Harry!" Ron exclaimed excitedly. "I've got Potions on my time table! Maybe Dumbledore forced Snape to lower his standards a bit."

Harry smiled, his eyes twinkling mischievously. "I...er...sort of made a deal with Dumbledore," he revealed, casting a nervous glance at a clearly disapproving Hermione. "I sort of blackmailed him," he admitted guiltily.

"Oh honestly, Harry! Why would you go to so much trouble to be stuck in the dungeons for another year with Snape?" Hermione cried out.

"How did you do it?" Ron asked, both boys ignoring Hermione's protests of disapproval.

"I told him I'd continue Occlumency if he got Snape to let us in," he admitted, staring guiltily into his porridge.

"Oh Harry!" Hermione said, shaking her head.

"That's brilliant!" Ron exclaimed.

"Well, we've got Charms in ten minutes. We'd better get going if we want to make it there on time," Hermione said finally. Harry was relieved she'd dropped the subject, as he already felt incredibly guilty about tricking Dumbledore. Still, he thought to himself as they left the Great Hall, Snape's standards were ridiculously high. Harry knew he could do the work as long as Snape wasn't torturing him the entire time.

The day seemed to move at a snail-like pace as the three friends waited eagerly for their afternoon class, Defense Against the Dark Arts. They all wanted to put an end to the mystery surrounding the two new professors. At lunch Ginny complained through her chicken stew about the amount of work she already had after only two classes, while Ron, Harry, and Hermione speculated about what was in store for them during their Defense lesson.

Neville, who was sitting across from Ginny, leaned toward them in a secretive manner. "I heard some fourth year Hufflepuffs whispering about the new professors. They said the class was amazing, despite the professors being Americans, and one girl even said that someone named Buffy was her new idol."

"Buffy?" Hermione sputtered. "What an awful name!"

"I wouldn't talk if I were you," Ron said smugly.

"Oh honestly!" Hermione began. "Why do you--"

"--we should get going!" Harry interrupted, before this could turn into a full fledged argument. He got the distinct impression that Hermione was a bit sensitive about her unusual name. "I want to get to class early so we can get good seats."

The sixth years left Ginny behind, still bemoaning her rapidly disappearing free time. They weren't the first to arrive, despite being nearly ten minutes early. Many of the seats up front had already been taken by a group of eager Ravenclaws, among them Terry Boot, a D.A. member. He approached Harry now, as he and his friends settled themselves in the middle of the room.

"Hello, Harry," he said, nodding at the other Gryffindors. "So are you going to start up the D.A. again now that Umbridge is gone?" he asked bluntly. "Only, I've told some of the other Ravenclaws about it, and they want to join."

Harry nodded. "I need to speak to McGonagall first, but I'm hoping to have our first meeting sometime this week."

They were interrupted by the entrance of the new Defense teachers. Terry hurried back to his seat as the two young women entered the room, chatting amicably.

Harry couldn't help but stare at them, and noticed many of the other boys in the class staring too. Professor Rosenburg was dressed simply in a flowing skirt and green top, but she had an electric energy about her that made Harry a little nervous and excited at the same time. Professor Summers walked with a confident stride that made him stare, as did her rather too-tight leather pants and halter top. He'd never really seen a girl dressed this way, and certainly not any girl at Hogwarts. He found himself wishing wistfully that voluminous black robes weren't part of their school uniforms.

Hermione cleared her throat angrily, poking Ron in the back to tell him to shut his mouth, as he was gaping in a rather obvious way at the professors. Professor Rosenburg smiled nervously, twisting her hands in her skirt at the class quieted down and stared at the two young women expectantly. Clearing her throat hesitantly, she said, "First off, we're not really very professory. We're still in school ourselves. So, you can just call me Willow." _Professory?_ Harry thought to himself. _Was that even a real word?_

"I'm Buffy," the other girl said with a nod, as if to emphasize her point. So this was the infamous Buffy, fourth year Hufflepuff's idol. Harry, consumed with curiosity, stared in fascination at his professors. He didn't feel too badly about this, as the rest of the class was also staring. Most of them, he thought, had probably never seen proper Muggles before, and Americans, as Harry knew from sneaking in to watch the telly when Dudley wasn't paying attention, were a special breed of Muggle altogether. His thoughts were interrupted by Buffy's next words. "I guess we should probably explain a few things before we get started. I know we look like ordinary people, and you're probably thinking, 'What are these two, um, mug people?, doing, trying to teach our class?'" She looked around, some of the students were nodding in agreement, while a few others were sniggering at the word "mug people." "Well we may be mug people, but we're a lot more than we seem." She looked to Willow. "Why don't you tell the story, Will. You're a lot more Watcher-ish than me. I can never keep a straight face when we start talking Codex and prophesy."

Harry was having a hard time following the blonde's speech. She seemed to be making up a lot of words. Maybe it was just an American thing? he wondered to himself.

Willow grinned. "Oooookaaay," she said, drawing the word out so that it sounded like an entire sentence. She began pacing, obviously trying to figure out the best way to tell the story. Finally, with a deep breath she began. "Well, let's see. When the earth was first formed, there were no men, only demons. Demons walked the earth unchecked and, um, unfettered for centuries. They eventually left for more exciting dimensions. You know, places with more fire and damnation and torture. Ooh, and blood. They like places where there's lots of bleeding and people screaming in agony."

The class stared at her, some appalled, others clearly not believing a word she said. She continued on bravely, "Well eventually, only vestiges of them remained, vestiges that infected humans and formed these sort of human hybrids. Vampires, werewolves, that kind of thing." She paused for a moment. "You guys _do_ know about vampires, right?"

Hermione raised her hand tentatively. "Vampires are part human non-magical creatures, considered cursed and highly dangerous. We've done a bit of superficial study on them, of course but... I-I don't believe we're supposed to study them in depth until seventh year," she added hesitantly, clearly wanting to know more, but not wanting to break any rules.

Buffy snorted. "Part human, right. Blood sucking, soulless fiends is more like it. You'll learn quick enough when you're attacked. When one of them is eyeing you like a happy meal on legs, it won't matter when you're _supposed_ to learn about them."

"Buffy!" Willow admonished. "There just kids. We're not here to scare them."

Buffy snorted. "By the time we were their age we'd averted what--two apocalypses? Apocalypsi. What's the plural for 'apocalypse'?" she asked with a look of confusion.

Willow shook her head and pushed on with her story, while Buffy seemed to be talking to herself, trying to figure out the plural. Harry could see her lips forming different variations of the word and had to stifle a laugh. He wondered at her statement. _She_ had averted two apocalypses? The tiny girl in front of him who, truth be told, seemed a little empty headed? He focused on Willow, who was speaking again. "Well anyway, a bunch of monks or priests or something--can't remember which, there's always some group of old men responsible for these things--got together one day and decided they had to do something about the demons before civilization and human kind itself was lost forever. So using the oldest druid earth magics, they created the Slayer."

The class stared at her, stunned into gaping mouthed silence. _Slayer? Demons?_ Harry thought to himself. Was this all some huge joke of Dumbeldore's? Hermione looked thunderstruck, and Harry wondered if it was at the story itself, or because she hadn't already known it.

Harry found himself raising his hand, to his own and the rest of the class's amazement. "Er, what's a Slayer?" he asked hesitantly.

Buffy gave him a wicked smile that made him swallow hard. "Oooh, I used to hate it when Giles spouted this off to me, but now _I_ finally get to say it, and its not going to be followed by the words, 'You'll very likely die before you're allowed to vote,' or something else dreary and British." Several students were glaring at her now, and Neville actually said, "Pardon me?" in a highly offended voice. "Not that you're dreary!" she countered quickly. "But you know the type... men with glasses and tweed constantly drinking tea and eating scones who refuse to even get _near_ a computer?" She shook her head and gave up on trying to appease the class. "Anyway, so what's a Slayer, four-eyes wants to know?" She cleared her throat impressively and said in a melodramatically fake British accent, "Into every generation a Slayer is born. One girl in all the world, a Chosen One. One born with the strength and skill to fight the vampires. She alone will stand against the vampires, the demons, and the forces of darkness." She shrugged and hopped to sit on the edge of the desk, swinging her booted feet freely, as her legs were too short to reach the ground. "And that's me," she finished. "I'm the Slayer."

Harry felt a sort of stillness and dread go through him. Her words eerily reminded him of the prophecy that had been made about him. He alone would be able to fight Voldemort, he alone would have the power...

He was snapped out of his reverie by Willow's next words. "So, um, Dumbledore thought it'd be a good idea for you guys to learn some hand to hand combat skills. That's Buffy's deal. She'll teach you some basic fighting skills, and maybe even move on to some weaponry, crossbows and stuff like that. You'll do that on Mondays. I'll take care of the magical aspect of things."

Hermione was the one with her hand in the air this time. "I don't mean to be rude," she said shyly, never one to question a teacher, "but didn't you say before that you're a Muggle?"

Willow frowned. "I guess I am, that's true. But I _can_ do magic. Its hard to explain... Oh! I know! You've all seen _Star Wars,_ right?" She looked around at the room full of blankly staring faces. "You know, 'May the Force be with you,' 'Luke, I am your father?'" The class continued to stare at her as if she'd gone mad. "Star Wars!" she cried out in frustration, clearly thinking they were the mad ones. "'There is no try, only do'! Obi Wan Kenobi, and Chewbacca, and those cute little Ewok guys!"

"Give it up, Will," Buffy said. "These kids seem to suffer from an entire _lack_ of all things fun. They're fun-less."

Harry raised his hand. He knew very well what _Star Wars_ was--Dudley had spent half the summer after his third year watching the films over and over again. Harry hadn't been able to see more than bits and pieces, but at least he knew it was a film. "Er, most of us have only ever lived in the wizarding world. We don't really watch muggle films. We don't have television at all, actually."

Willow and Buffy exchanged horrified glances. "Ok well, here's another way to explain it." She gave a sad sigh. "The Star Wars metaphor was way more entertaining. Anyway. You guys are like natural witches and wizards. You have magic, power, inside you. Your wands are a way of controlling and centering that magic, as well as adding to it through their own magical cores. I, on the other hand, have no magic inside me. I'm more like a conductor, I guess. There are forces outside of us, connected to the earth, demons, gods, all kinds of things. If you know the right words and have enough focus and strength of mind, anyone, even muglings like us, can summon a demon or perform a spell. Some people make better conductors, of course. Some Muggles couldn't do a simply levitation spell if their lives depended on it. Other people though... once you get powerful enough, you don't even need words or sacrifices to summon and conjure." Willow shuddered a little as if remembering a particularly bad experience. "Dumbledore wants me to teach you some of this magic. He thinks you guys are too dependent on your wands." She frowned a little. "I have to warn you though. Demons and gods and things, they don't always obey the person who summons them. Even drawing on the natural forces around us can be dangerous, can... get out of hand." A dark shadow seemed to pass over the girl's bright eyes, and Harry noticed Buffy reach over and grab her hand, squeezing it a little bit as if to give her friend a bit of strength.

A Ravenclaw boy, Anthony Goldstein, raised his hand. "I think I speak for everyone here," he said a little snidely, Harry thought, "when I say that I won't believe _that_ until I see it."

Willow looked taken aback, but Buffy gave the boy a glare. "I don't slay on command, you know," she said, obviously offended at having her powers questioned. "Its not a spectator sport."

"Uh, actually Buffy, there is that thing we can do, with the thing," Willow said hesitantly.

"Oh, right. The thing. Well, fine. But I don't like being treated like I'm some sort of show-Slayer to be pranced around on a leash while my trainer makes me jump through hoops." She sighed and hopped off the desk.. "Ok, everyone up, and move to the sides of the room. Stand back and don't interfere, whatever you do. None of you are ready to take on a vamp yet, and I don't want any students dying my first day on the job. We can save the death and mayhem for a little later in the term. Let's do the graveyard scene, Will," she said to the other girl, pulling a wickedly pointed stick out of her sleeve.

The class stood awkwardly from their desks and moved to the backs and sides of the room as the small blonde girl had instructed. Willow closed her eyes, whispering a few words under her breath. When she opened them, Harry was horrified to see that they had turned a deep black. He could practically feel the power radiating off the red haired girl as the room seemed to shimmer and fade into darkness, then slip into a dim half night. Harry was amazed to find himself, not in the classroom, but in a dark graveyard, lit only by a high bright moon above. For a moment fear surged through him as he remembered the night of the third task in the Triwizard tournament, when he had suddenly appeared in a graveyard with none other than Voldemort himself awaiting him. He shook his head. Buffy was speaking, and the rest of the class was standing back in fear, obviously just as amazed as he had been at Willow's display of power. This was advanced magic, far beyond anything the sixth years knew.

"Ok, now stay back, all of you. A vampire will rise out of one of these plots. Watch what I do, but always keep in mind a few important things. First, you have to get it in the heart. I missed the heart my first time out, and it wasn't pretty. I would have been toast if it hadn't been for my Watcher. Second, I'm the Slayer. This is my sacred duty, or whatever, and no one can really do it the way I can. I have Slayer powers. This may look easy, but it won't be, not for you."

Just then, the ground in front of a tall gravestone on the left began to churn, and a sickly pale hand reached out of the ground, causing Parvati to give a little scream and press her back more firmly against the wall of the classroom, which Willow had somehow transformed into the wall of the cemetery. Soon the hand was join by another, then by a head. The vampire's face was ridged, its long sharp teeth gleamed in the moonlight as it snarled, pulling itself out of the grave.

"Slayer," it growled as Buffy turned to face the creature, her stick held high in front of her.

"Slayee," Buffy said.

The vampire lunged toward her and Buffy quickly sidestepped with a speed and grace Harry had not thought possible of humans. She twirled on the balls of her feet, one leg swinging out in a wide arc to come crashing down onto the vampire's head. He went down, but was up quickly, rushing the small girl with blood in his eyes. They fought hard and quickly, Buffy taking several punches, but finally sending the creature flying with a well placed kick to its head. It hit a headstone and stood, shaking its head dizzily as Buffy closed in. Flipping her stick almost casually in her right hand, she blocked a wild punch from the vampire and lunged forward quickly, plunging the stick into the creature's chest. It promptly disappeared in a poof of dust.

Harry looked at Ron and Hermione. They were all amazed by what had just happened, and none of them seemed capable of speech. "Satisfied?" Buffy asked glibly, blowing on her stick as if it were a smoking gun. She smiled at Willow. "I think they're finally convinced."

"Oh, I don't know," she red head said, glancing innocently around at the class. "Maybe we could do a nice demon summoning, you know, just to make sure."

"Do you know what this means!" Hermione exclaimed as they left the class in a daze. Harry was still trying to get over the shock of having seen something turn into a small cloud of dust in front of him to answer her. It didn't seem to matter though. Far from being dazed herself, Hermione was walking quickly ahead of them, muttering to herself. She paused in frustration, tapping her foot impatiently as she waited for Harry and Ron to catch up.

"Er, that vampires really _do_ exist?" Harry asked as they climbed the stairs to Gryffindor Tower.

"And that they're really ugly sorts of blokes?" Ron added.

"Bubotuber puss!" Hermione exclaimed. For a moment, Harry stared at her in confusion before he realized she was merely telling the password to the portrait of the Fat Lady that guarded the Gryffindor common room. They stepped through the portrait and Hermione dragged them into a secluded corner.

"Er, what are we supposed to realize?" Harry asked finally.

Hermione's eyes glittered. "Can't you see what an advantage this will be, not needing our wands? Oh, I expect we'll never be as good without them, but if we could do this other magic, we could at least find a way to get our wands back, or hold Death Eaters off until help arrives, or something!"

Harry nodded. "Its good, yeah," he said. "And I like the idea of learning some fighting skills. Did you see the way Buffy attacked that vampire! It was amazing! I bet she'd be brilliant at Quidditch, with those reflexes."

"Its too bad she's a professor," Ron said, nodding. "We'd be sure to win the Cup with her on our side."

The conversation turned quickly from Defense to Quidditch as Harry and Ron began discussing possible replacements for Angelina, Alicia, and the Beaters. "We'll need to hold some tryouts," Ron was saying as Hermione scowled and stalked off, sick of everything turning into Quidditch talk.

"Ginny said last year she'd like to try out for Chaser, but who'll we get for Beaters?" Harry gave a sad little sigh. "I already miss Fred and George." While he was thinking about it, Harry decided to speak to Professor McGonagall about booking the pitch to have tryouts, hopefully by Friday so that they could begin practices soon. With so many new players on the team, they'd definitely need to start early.

He found her in her office, her quill scratching at a long piece of parchment in front of her. "Er, Professor?" he asked, pausing in the doorway.

"Come in, Potter," she said, laying her quill aside with a sigh. "What is it you need?"

"Er," Harry began nervously. Professor McGonagall always made him feel as if he were about to receive detention. "I need to book the pitch for Friday afternoon, if I can. To hold Quidditch tryouts."

Professor McGonagall smiled, making Harry stare. He'd never seen her smile so widely before. "Excellent! I have a lot of faith in your abilities, Potter. Starting early is just the thing! Very well, you have permission to use the pitch. Anything else?"

"Er, yes, actually," Harry said, even more nervously. He wanted to ask permission to reform the D.A., but he didn't know what McGonagall would think of it. After all, it had been the D.A. that had gotten Dumbledore in so much trouble with the Ministry the year before, and Harry didn't know if McGonagall would appreciate the club being started up again. He stared at his shoes and worked up a bit of courage. McGonagall wasn't nearly as frightening as the dragon he'd faced in his fourth year, he tried to tell himself. "I was hoping, that is, a lot of us students, er..."

"I do have other business to attend to, Potter," Professor McGonagall said with a touch of impatience. "What is it you're trying to say?"

"We want to reform our defense club," Harry blurted out.

"Permission granted," she said immediately, making Harry stare. "Would you like the use of a classroom for your meetings, or would you rather continue to meet in the Room of Requirement?"

Harry was speechless for a moment. "Did you... you _knew_?" he sputtered.

McGonagall raised an eyebrow. "Did you really think that twenty students could hold secret meetings in this school for several months without my knowledge?"

Harry nodded dumbly, backing out of the room. "Er, well, thanks Professor!" He made his way back to Gryffindor Tower in stunned silence. Of course she had to have known, he realized finally. Dumbledore always knew everything that went on in the castle, and he surely would have told McGonagall, if only to keep Umbridge out of their way as they left meetings. He'd never before wondered how they hadn't been caught before they were; after all, twenty some people walking about the seventh floor corridor was a bit odd at the best of times. He shook his head as he stepped through the Fat Lady's portrait and made his way up to his dormitory. Dumbledore had been protecting him all along.


	4. The I in Team

Chapter 4: The I in Team

_"We like to talk big. Vampires do. 'I'm going to destroy the world.' Just tough guy talk. Strutting around with your friends over a pint of blood. The truth is, I like this world. You've got... dog racing, Manchester United. And you've got people. Billions of people walking around like Happy Meals with legs. It's all right here. But then someone comes along with a vision. With a real... passion for destruction. Angel could pull it off. Goodbye, Picadilly. Farewell, Leicester Bloody Square." -Spike, "Becoming Part II"_

Harry had his first Potions lesson of the year the next day, and both he and Ron were extremely nervous as they queued up with the other Gryffindors taking Snape's N.E.W.T. level class. Harry wasn't surprised to see that very few Gryffindors were waiting for Snape to unlock the dungeon doors. He had always treated Gryffindors so miserably in his class that most of them had escaped it the moment they had the chance. Only Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Dean were there to represent the Gryffindors. Harry asked himself again why he had practically begged to be let into Snape's class.

He was still asking himself that when he saw Draco Malfoy making his way toward the other Slytherins in the corridor, for once unaccompanied by his bodyguard friends, Crabbe and Goyle. Hermione gave Harry an amused look. "Don't suppose Malfoy's lackeys made the grade," she whispered to him cheerfully.

Ron grinned. "Its weird to see him on his own. Its like he's naked."

Hermione made a face and slapped Ron playfully on the arm. "Ew, Ron. Don't be sick." Harry was laughing at them too much to notice Snape sweeping threateningly down the corridor until he paused directly in front of Harry. He could feel his laughter die on his lips as older man sneered at him.

"Laugh now, Potter," he practically spit at Harry, making him cringe closer to the wall as if seeking protection, "because once you enter my dungeon, there will be no frivolity or fun. You'll have to work twice as hard as the rest to make up for your abysmal performance on the O.W.L. exam."

Harry could feel his face burning with a combination of anger and embarrassment as he trudged into the dungeon with his friends. It didn't help that Malfoy was sneering at him with that superior look in his eye, and kept shooting him smirking glances every few minutes during the lesson. The lesson itself was as dismal as Harry had expected. The potion Snape had asked them to prepare for that day was impossibly difficult, and it was only with Hermione's surreptitious help that Harry managed to produce something that slightly resembled a Practicality Potion. He ladled a sample of the aqua colored liquid into a flask and carried it up to Snape, his emotions battling horribly inside him. He hated Snape with a passion that surprised him, and all his guilt over the awful memory he'd witnessed the year before in Snape's Pensieve had all but disappeared in the wake of Sirius's death.

Snape sneered at him as Harry placed the potion carefully on his desk for grading. "Dismal work," he said, holding the flask up in front of his eyes. "I can't say when I've seen such a lamentable potion maker as yourself, Potter. If you want to stay in this class, you will come to my office Monday night for extra lessons. Now get out of my sight before I change my mind about allowing you to remain in this class with the others who have _earned_ the privilege."

Harry left quickly, his face red with anger and embarrassment. He was growling deep in his throat without realizing it, blind with rage as he made his way up to the Great Hall for lunch. He was so immersed in his own feelings that he didn't even notice Buffy and Ginny standing in the middle of the entrance hall, deep in conversation, until he'd run straight into them.

Harry and Ginny crashed onto the floor, landing heavily on the cold stone. Buffy caught herself easily and offered them both hands up. Harry shook his head, trying to clear his head of the anger Snape had induced in him. Buffy and Ginny were both staring at him as if he'd suddenly sprouted horns. "Er, sorry Professor," he muttered, quite embarrassed and thinking he'd just made a fool of himself in front of the Slayer, of all people. "All right then, Ginny?" he asked, seeing that she was rubbing her elbow and grimacing.

"You have a habit of knocking me over, Harry," Ginny pointed out with a frown at her injured arm.

"She'll be fine," Buffy assured him. "And don't call me 'professor.' It makes me feel old."

Harry stared at her, Snape completely forgotten. Today she was wearing the shortest skirt he'd ever seen with big black boots and yet another halter top. "You're not old!" he stuttered unthinkingly, still staring. "Aren't you cold?" he added.

Buffy looked amused at his blatant staring, and Ginny was giving him harassed looks that clearly said he was making a fool of himself, which he didn't even notice what with Buffy practically naked in the entrance hall. "Yeah," she admitted, "but I've lived in California my whole life. I don't really have Englandy clothes. And those robe thingies you guys wear," she crinkled her nose in disgust, "are a fashion don't. More like a fashion _travesty_." She shrugged and turned back to Ginny, obviously intending to continue their interrupted conversation. Harry watched her drag Ginny off to a more secluded spot. He only snapped out of his reverie when Hermione and Ron arrived, breathing hard in the effort they'd made to catch up to him.

"What...was...that...all about?" Hermione asked breathlessly, handing him his bag, which he'd only just then realized he'd forgotten in Potions.

"She's...the best...dresser...I've ever...seen!" Ron exclaimed at the same time, taking big gulping breaths between words.

"Er, right," Harry turned and headed into the Great Hall, trying to hide his embarrassment at having been caught gaping at their Defense professor. Ron and Hermione followed him. Suddenly remembering his anger at Snape, he glared down at his soup, wishing he could toss it into Snape's face, which was sneering at him from the head table.

"Are you ok, Harry?" Hermione asked, glancing at Ron worriedly.

"Snape is such a git!" Harry exploded, throwing his hands up in angry frustration and nearly knocking is soup over.

"Harry," Hermione said quietly, trying to soothe him in a manner that usually indicated she was about to point out something he wouldn't like, "I think Snape was just being so nasty to cover up for your extra lessons, and for letting you into his class." She looked around to make sure no one was paying them any attention. "You know he has to keep up his Death Eater act in front of Malfoy and the others," she continued in a whisper.

Harry stared at her, his eyes flashing dangerously with rage. "Why are you defending him?" he nearly yelled, making several Gryffindors turn and stare at the trio, wondering at the disturbance. "He's such a great bloody git to me, and you, my supposed best friend, just sit there and make _excuses_ for him?!" he shouted, nearly spitting with anger.

Hermione sat dumbstruck, her mouth moving as she attempted to form a response, but nothing was coming out. Harry stood up, glaring at his friend and turned, stalking from the Great Hall without another word.

The next day passed in tense silence between Harry and Hermione, while Ron attempted cheerful conversation to distract them into talking to each other again. Hermione turned out to be just as angry as Harry, and was refusing to talk to him. Not that it would have done any good--Harry had been resolutely ignoring her since his outburst at dinner the night before.

Harry had too many other things to think about to really worry about the fact that Hermione was just as angry at him as he was at her. He'd posted signs in the common room announcing both Quidditch trials on Friday, as well as a D.A. meeting Thursday evening. He recruited Ernie MacMillan to post signs in the Hufflepuff common room, and Luna to post them in the Ravenclaw common room. He wondered briefly if he should try to include Slytherins in the D.A., but decided against it. He knew they couldn't all be bad, but he'd rather not have Draco Malfoy show up at the meeting to throw insults and be generally nasty if he could help it.

Classes seemed to go on forever on Thursday, with everyone whispering excitedly about the meeting that night. Even their first Defense lesson with Willow served only as a brief distraction from the building anticipation of what they'd be learning that night. As their Defense class sat on the floor, each person surrounded by his or her own carefully chalked pentagram, Willow stood at the front of the room, frowning at them.

"What's wrong with all of you today?" she asked grumpily. "You're not even _trying_!"

Harry sighed and attempted to concentrate. This Muggle magic business was a lot harder than he'd thought, and seemed suspiciously like Occlumency to him. Willow had told them to clear their minds and concentrate hard on the candles in front of them. They were supposed to picture the candle lighting and concentrate on the wick while repeating the words "aduro adustum exussum" over and over. Harry closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, and tried to clear his mind. He opened them slowly, staring hard at the candle in front of him. He pictured it burning merrily, and began repeating the words quietly. Around him he could hear Ron muttering as well, and tried to ignore the other voices. "Aduro adustum exussum, aduro adustum exussum..."

Suddenly his candle was sparking and a small flame flickered merrily on the tall wick. "Oh yay!" Willow exclaimed, strolling over to him and grinning at his lit candle. "Harry made it work! Great--"

Her words were cut off by a loud shriek from across the room. The class turned to look at the source of the noise to see Neville's candle being completely consumed by the flame. "Oh no!" Neville cried, scrambling away from his candle. "What did I do?"

Willow merely snapped her fingers sharply, and the flames died instantly, leaving a waxy puddle in Neville's pentagram--the remains of his candle. "I'm sorry Professor!" Neville sputtered, wringing his hands. "Anyone can tell you I'm no great shakes at this," he admitted sadly.

Willow smiled kindly. "Well, at least you made some fire!" she exclaimed brightly. "That's the first step, anyway. Now its just about control. Let's try again."

Seven o'clock, and the first D.A. meeting of the year, finally arrived, with Harry and Hermione having reached a grudging agreement to ignore their fight two days before. Harry wasn't happy with his friend, but he was sick of fighting. He'd rather just pretend it never happened, although a part of him still resented her having taken Snape's side over his, and not being properly outraged at their professor's behavior.

The three friends waited eagerly in the Room of Requirement, wondering which of the former D.A. members would show up, and whether anyone new would come. They didn't have long to wait. By seven the room was filled with students from three houses, most of them people Harry had never seen before. "There must be fifty people here," Ron whispered to Harry as a few more students straggled into the room.

Harry cleared his throat, trying to get everyone's attention. Everyone quieted immediately, staring at Harry expectantly. The room was crowded, as Harry hadn't expected nearly this many people to show up, and people were standing on chairs in the back, trying to see over the people in front them. Harry cleared his throat again nervously. He hated being the center of attention like this.

"Er, welcome to the D.A.," he began, his voice squeaking a bit in his nervousness. "This'll just be an informational meeting then, as we weren't expecting so many people to come. Next time we'll ask the Room for something a bit bigger."

He glanced at Ron, not sure what to say to the eager students. Ron shrugged. "Er, so you're probably wondering what this is about," he continued.

"I heard you're teaching people Patronuses!" someone in the back called out.

"Well, that's part of it," Harry admitted, nodding, "but its more than that. Its about knowing how to defend yourselves not just against dementors and other Dark Creatures, but against Voldemort and his Death Eaters." Many of the students gasped at hearing the name spoken allowed, and Harry resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "You need to get used to hearing that name," Harry said harshly, "because he's out there, and if we don't stop him quickly, soon enough he'll start killing. People will start disappearing, probably even people you know, and he'll be behind it. If you can't even say the name, how do you expect to fight him?" He glared around the room, as if daring any of them to answer his question.

"We've already worked on a lot of the basics--Disarming, Stunning, that kind of thing. Those of you who are new will want to work on those on your own, try to find a D.A. member from last year who can help you. I know we started Patronuses last year, but we need to keep working on them. I'll try to find a couple Boggarts, that would be best. Its a lot harder to produce a Patronus when a dementor is gliding toward you." A few of the students in the front of the room shivered, as if they could sense a dementor swooping toward them right then. "After that, we've found loads of great spells that might help us. Any questions?"

"When will we meet?" a Hufflepuff in the back called out.

Harry frowned. "We had a lot of problems with this last year, trying to fit it around Quidditch practice and all. I'll say Thursday evenings, but that may change."

"Are we going to use the Galleons again, then?" Susan Bones asked.

Harry exchanged a glance with Hermione, who'd made the Galleons the year before, coins that Harry could code to tell each member the date and time of the next meeting. He nodded slowly. "I think its a good idea," he said carefully. "And, er, I'm hoping that we can keep these meetings to ourselves."

"You mean I can't tell my friends?" someone called out from the back.

Harry sighed. "You can tell your friends but..." he looked around at them, trying to gauge their reactions, "I'd rather that certain er, people, rather not know about this."

"Slytherins, you mean," Harry heard Ginny's voice calling out.

Harry nodded. "I don't want to offend any of you, if you're friends with them or anything, but er, well, we _know_ some of them are in league with Voldemort!" he exclaimed heatedly. "Malfoy's dad's in prison, and Crabbe and Goyle's dads too. There are some others as well, Nott and Avery. If their dads are all Death Eaters, how do we know they're not? I just don't think we should let any of the Slytherins know what we're planning, that's all," he finished lamely. "And anyone who disagrees can leave!" he added, a hint of anger in his voice.

Ginny stood up. "The Slytherins can go to hell!" she proclaimed loudly, her statement followed by a chorus of cheers.

Harry flushed, and Hermione looked both horrified and impressed at the same time. "Well, that's it then. We'll meet again next Thursday, and Hermione will have Galleons for all of you by then."

As the room began to empty, students talking excitedly as the left, Harry grinned at his friends. Ginny's defiant proclamation rang in his ears, and he couldn't help laughing a little. Ron started laughing too, and soon all three of them were giggling madly, tears streaming down Hermione's cheeks. "The Slytherins...can...go to..." she gasped.

"Its time someone finally said it out loud!" Harry gasped, still laughing at the image he had of Ginny taking on Draco Malfoy and the rest of the Slytherins single handedly. Despite the fight with Hermione and his encounter with Snape, he returned to Gryffindor tower that night with a smile on his face.

"Well, that made for a bit of a change," Hermione commented as they trudged up the lawn from Hagrid's hut, heading toward the castle in the strong rays of the afternoon sun. They had just finished their first Care of Magical Creatures class for the year, and to everyone's relief, Hagrid had introduced them to nothing that could be classified "highly dangerous and extremely illegal." They had studied Mooncalfs for the period, and although Hagrid obviously thought they were a little boring what with their inability to cause fatal injuries, he seemed to be wising up a bit in terms of appropriate creatures for them to learn about. As a result, the Gryffindors were hoping that _this_ year, at least, Hagrid would manage to teach all the way through.

Harry hurried his friends up, wanting to bolt down his dinner as quickly as possible so as to get out to the Quidditch pitch before people began showing up for tryouts. Once in the Great Hall he piled his plate high with food and began eating furiously, nearly choking a few times in his haste. He felt a trifle annoyed that he had to waste time nourishing his body when all he really wanted to do was get his team together and start flying...

"Slow down, Harry!" Ron exclaimed, watching his friend in amused horror. "Honestly, you're like Hermione on a House-Elf rampage."

Harry paused between shoveling food in his mouth to throw a concerned glance at Ron. "I'm surprised you're even eating. Tryouts in half an hour, you know. Aren't you nervous at all?"

Ron raised one ginger eyebrow delicately. "Should I be?" he asked with supreme confidence. "After last year's final... you didn't see it, but damn, Harry, I was bloody brilliant! I made this one catch... I'm not sure if I can accurately describe it. Wish someone had recorder it with Omniocculars. I was amazing..." Ron stared off into the distance, a goofy smile on his face, remembering his last Quidditch match, the adrenaline, his amazing saves, everyone shouting his name and singing "Weasley is Our King."

"Well, we need to get down there," Harry mumbled through a last bite of ham, chasing it with several swallows of pumpkin juice. "I'll just get my Omniocculars and meet you down at the pitch." His eyes shone brightly with excitement. "Quidditch!" he shouted happily, and left the hall.

Harry sighed unhappily, thinking he'd never experienced so much pain from Quidditch before, not even the time a crazed Bludger had smashed his arm to bits. All his hope for another Quidditch Cup win was fading before his eyes as he watched his Housemates fly around the pitch on his Omniocculars. He sighed again and shook his head morosely, handing his Omniocculars to Hermione, who was perched next to him in the Gryffindor stands.

"What's wrong?" she asked, peering through the brass instrument hesitantly. She cringed a bit and pulled the Omniocculars away from her face, staring at them with a start of horror as if they'd suddenly transfigured themselves into a particularly disgusting flesh eating slug. "Oh!" she exclaimed. "This isn't good. I'm hopeless at Quidditch, and even I can tell that they," she waved her hand to indicate the hopefuls flying around the pitch, "well, they're positively dreadful."

"I know!" Harry said with a groan, head in hands. He tugged at his messy hair in frustration and stared at his scuffed shoes, not wanting to chance another glance at the field, afraid of what Quidditch atrocity he might see there this time. He settled on looking at Hermione instead. "Well, that's not entirely true. Ginny is quite good. I'll definitely make her a Chaser. Ron seems to have gained a bit of confidence after last year, and anyway I'd better keep him if I want to live through the night."

Hermione snorted. "A _bit_ of confidence?" she scoffed. "He acts like he's won the World Cup for England, the way he carries on. I mean _really_--"

"But that still leaves me a Chaser and two Beaters short!" Harry cut her off. "What am I going to do? McGonagall's going to have kittens if we don't have a good team, and Malfoy... I can't stand to think of his team winning!"

Hermione peered through the Omniocculars again, biting her lip thoughtfully. After a few minutes, she handed them back to Harry. "Watch Colin. I know he's a bit uncontrolled, but he seems quite fearless. He might make a decent Chaser, with a bit of training up."

Harry zoomed in on the fifth year boy who had once followed him around worshipfully, snapping photos with his Muggle camera. Colin had very little control over his broom, that was certain, and a few times he nearly crashed into Ginny while trying to pass the Quaffle. Luckily Ginny herself was very skilled and managed to avoid collisions with neat swerves and rolls. Colin was aggressive, though, and fast. He also seemed to have no concept of fear, and it didn't seem to occur to him that flying a hundred feet above the ground with reckless abandon might be a little hazardous.

"Not enough control or skill for a Chaser," Harry muttered, voicing his thoughts aloud. "But he'd make a fair Beater. Colin!" he called out, amplifying his voice magically so that the younger boy could hear him. "Grab a bat and show me what you can do as a Beater."

Despite discovering that Colin Creevey make an excellent Beater, Harry was still quite despondent when he signaled the fliers to land. "Thanks for coming out, everyone," he told the group tiredly, as if he had been the one flying for the better part of an hour. "I'll post my decisions by Monday at the latest, and our first practice will be Tuesday morning at six." A rumble of groans erupted from the crowd at his words, but Harry just shook his head. "Look," he said, "to tell you the truth, most of you are pretty awful." A few people glared at him, but most of them were nodding sadly. "We're going to need a lot of practice, especially since we'll have so many new players. We'll need to learn how to work together. So if you're not willing to work harder than you've ever done before, wake up before dawn every morning to practice, give up weekend Hogsmead visits and all ideas of a social life, let me know now and I won't bother considering you," he finished with a glare around the group for good measure. Some of his housemates were gaping at him incredulously, others were glaring straight back, but no one stepped forward to withdraw from the trials. "Right then. You're dismissed. Ron, Ginny, could you help me with the balls?"

The Weasleys stayed behind to help, along with Hermione, although she mostly hid from the Bludgers underneath the stands. The four of them headed back up to the castle after securing the struggling balls, discussing the perspective Gryffindor team. Hermione stopped suddenly with a frustrated groan halfway up to the castle, staring at the doors. "Ugh, its Malfoy, He's coming straight for us."

Harry grimaced. Malfoy, along with Crabbe, Goyle, and a few other Slytherins, was indeed walking toward them, his head lifted in that arrogant manner that always made Harry want to kick him. "Sodding git," Ron muttered. Hermione clucked her tongue disapprovingly, but didn't berate him for swearing. Ginny nodded in agreement, adding, "Damn right he is."

Harry fought the urge to laugh. For some reason curses coming from Ginny's mouth always seemed somehow ludicrous. "Well, well, well," Malfoy sneered, pausing to stand in front of Harry, "if it isn't Potty and his sidekicks." He smiled cruelly. "I witnessed that travesty of a Quidditch trial. If your team is as terrible as I think it will be, I don't doubt McGonagall will rescind your captaincy. Maybe she should have thought to give it to someone with say, a modicum of talent, in the first place."

"Don't you mean someone with a rich daddy and a trust fund?" Ron growled, fingering his wand, clearly wanting to use it on the blond boy in front of him. Crabbe and Goyle growled threateningly in response, stepping up to flank their leader.

"I wonder what Snape was thinking, choosing you," Ginny added, her voice laced with malice and anger. "A seeker so talented, he's never once caught the snitch against Harry. Maybe he's just trying to recruit baby Death Eaters, what with all your dads in prison now. Voldemort's army is dwindling so much he's willing to accept even you three talentless slugs into it."

Draco glared at the younger girl with a loathing that shocked even Harry. "You're as much a fool as the rest of the Weasleys, little Ginny," he sneered her name as if it were the worst of insults. He drew his wand slowly and deliberately from his sleeve. "You're not fit to _mention_ my father, you filthy little blood traitor. Why don't you carry on with licking Potter's boots? From what I hear that's more of a proper position for you--_on your knees._" He gave Ginny a disgustingly knowing look that made Harry growl and reach for his own wand.

But Ginny was faster. Before Harry had even touched his own wand, she had hers out and pointed steadily at Malfoy's face. "If you want another demonstration of my hexing abilities," she said in a quietly dangerous voice, "by all means, keep talking Malfoy." It had only just occurred to Ron what Malfoy had meant by his comment, and his face was now so red Harry feared he'd simply attack Malfoy bare handed if necessary. The idea had merit, Harry thought to himself, but remembering the results of his physical attack on Malfoy the year before, he stayed his ground. Inwardly he seethed. How dare Malfoy imply _that_ about Ginny?

"Threats, Miss Weasley?" Harry's head whipped around at the sound of Snape's delighted voice from behind him. "Clearly an attempt to sabotage the Slytherin Quidditch team. Mr. Weasley, Miss Granger... I'm quite disappointed in you. As prefects you should know better than to allow this sort of unruly behavior from your Housemates. You'll all have detention," he finished with a smile that only made Harry even angrier than he had been at Malfoy. It was one thing for his enemies to treat him unfairly, but Snape was supposed to be on their side. Malfoy smirked at Harry and his team looked as if Christmas had come early.

Harry could feel his face burning with supressed rage. "But Professor!" Hermione exclaimed indignantly. "Ginny didn't start it! Malfoy--"

"And fifty points from Gryffindor for being an insufferable tattle tale," Snape added with a twist of his lips.

Hermione opened her mouth to protest, but seemed to think better of it. Her teeth clicked audibly as she snapped her mouth shut, and she turned her back on Snape, storming through the crowd of Slytherins with an angry huff. Harry and Ron exchanged horrified glances--Hermione _never_ talked back to teachers--and hurried to catch up with her.

"I reckon you're right about him, Harry!" Hermione raged once they had reached the safety of the common room. "That no good, lying, sorry excuse for a Professor! How dare he call _me_ a tattle tale, when Malfoy is the biggest whiner in the history of annoying little prats! I don't care if he is on our side! I mean, honestly!"

Harry and Ron stared at their friend, who was breathing hard, her face very red. "Have you gone mad, woman?" Ron asked, his voice filled with impressed awe. "You've just insulted a teacher!"

Hermione slumped into a chair, her face draining of color. She looked as if she might be ill on the common room rug. "I did, didn't I?" she said faintly. She gave them a small smile. "He is simply horrid, though." She glanced around the common room, her eyes resting on Ginny, who had climbed through the portrait whole unobtrusively and was attempting to sneak up the stairs to her dormitory without being noticed. Hermione sighed. "Oh, I do hope she's all right. Malfoy is absolutely repugnant, saying those things to her. We have to get him this year. We just have to!"


	5. Eyes Wide Shut

Chapter 5: Eyes Wide Shut

_"I don't understand how this all happens. How we go through this. I mean, I knew her, and then she's, there's just a body, and I don't understand why she just can't get back in it and not be dead anymore. It's stupid. It's mortal and stupid. And, and Xander's crying and not talking, and, and I was having fruit punch, and I thought, well, Joyce will never have any more fruit punch ever, and she'll never have eggs, or yawn or brush her hair, not ever, and no one will explain to me why." -Anya, "The Body"_

The weekend passed in a flurry of homework, with Hermione harping on Harry and Ron to get their work out of the way so they could get a good head start on things this year. Harry tried to concentrate on his Transfiguration assignment _("Explain in two and half feet, the ways in which cross species switches are affected by Circe's Theory of Transmutation and the horrible results that can occur if done incorrectly, with detailed examples")_ but kept finding himself staring off into space, picturing his housemates playing Quidditch. He still had to decide on a Chaser and Beater each, and the prospects really disappointed him. 

Sunday evening found the three of them holed up in a deserted corner of the common room, Defense books spread in front of them while they tried to master levitation techniques. They were using feathers, and the entire process reminded Harry of his first year at Hogwarts, trying to master the swish and flick. With a pang, he realized that he only had two years left at school. Only two years left of taking classes and having adventures and going to Feasts... he would miss it terribly. And, he thought with a shudder, only two years left of being protected from Voldemort within the safety of the school. With a frown Harry stared at his feather, trying to concentrate. Wandless magic seemed suddenly more important than Quidditch when he was faced with the prospect of once again facing Voldemort. 

He stared at his feather for another ten minutes, a frown of concentration marring his forehead. He tried everything the book told him to do: he pictured his feather floating, he pictured hands cupping the feather and lifting it, he imagined a strong wind blowing the feather about. Nothing seemed to work. With a sigh, he closed his eyes and put his hand to his forehead. All the concentrating was giving him a bit of a headache, and his scar prickled with the effort. 

"This is useless!" Ron exclaimed in frustration, making Hermione growl. 

"Now you've broken my concentration!" she complained with a glare. "I think mine was starting to wiggle a bit. Let's keep trying, then." 

But Ron slammed his book shut and shook his head in irritation. "No, that's enough for me tonight, thank you. Besides," he added with a significant glance at Harry, "we've got important _decisions_ to make." 

Harry grinned. Maybe a bit of thinking about Quidditch would help to clear his mind after all. And besides, he had an obligation to his housemates to choose the best team possible, didn't he? He couldn't let them down, not when they were the defending champions. 

Harry pulled out the parchment containing a list of all the Gryffindors who had tried out for the team. He and Ron bent over it carefully, scratching out names of people who obviously wouldn't suit, pausing to discuss over those who might. "What about Emma Dobbs?" Ron asked hesitantly. Harry had been rejecting his choices for the past five minutes, and he made the distinct impression that no one would be able to replace Angelina. 

Harry considered her thoughtfully. She was a third year, slight and fast with good maneuvers, but she had a hard time keeping hold of the Quaffel. He'd have to work with her, train her up, but she was a definite possibility. He nodded. "She might do," he told Ron, "if we can't think of anyone better." 

"As for Beater," Hermione cut in bossily, ignoring the boys' looks of shock that she was deigning to participate in a conversation involving Quidditch, "I think you should give Seamus a chance. I know he's not fantastic or anything, but he's big and he can swing a bat fairly hard. How much skill does it take to make a Beater, really?" she added. 

Ron sputtered with indignation. "Beating takes a lot of skill! You've got to be able to aim, and know when to knock someone out, and protect your teammates from Bludgers!" 

Hermione sniffed disdainfully. "Seems an awful lot like Rugby on brooms to me," she said with a small wink at Harry. 

Harry stifled a laugh as Ron launched into a tirade on the importance of Beaters. He went over the names on his list again, and with a tired sigh circled the names "Emma Dobbs" and "Seamus Finnigan." Emma would suit all right with a bit of training up, and Seamus was at least better than those brutes Crabbe and Goyle, to whom Malfoy had no doubt offered the Beater positions on the Slytherin team. His decision made, he scribbled out a finalized list of the team, nodding in satisfaction. As he crossed the common room to hang up his list on the announcement board, he felt the whole room watching his every movement. Even those who had not tried out for the team wanted to know who had made it--everyone wanted another Gryffindor victory this year. 

Harry pinned up the notice and stepped back to admire his handiwork, thinking that, scarily enough, he was becoming more and more like Oliver Wood every year. His announcement read: 

_Gryffindor Quidditch Team 1996 Season  
Chasers: Ginny Weasley  
Emma Dobbs  
Katie Bell  
Beaters: Colin Creevey  
Seamus Finnigan  
Keeper: Ron Weasley  
Seeker: Harry Potter (C) _

Our first practice will be Tuesday morning at 6 a.m. Be prepared for a full practice and give yourself plenty of time to warm up beforehand. The success or failure of our first practice will determine our schedule for the rest of the year. Remember, we have a championship to defend. 

Harry walked away from the board, grinning as his housemates clamored over each other to read the posting first. He heard yells of triumph and sighs of disappointment as he climbed the stairs to his dormitory. If it weren't for his lessons with Professor Snape the next night, Harry thought, Hogwarts would be practically perfect. 

Harry felt utterly exhausted as he descended the stairway into the dank dungeons where Snape had his office. Although he enjoyed this new style of Defense lessons, and felt as if they were finally learning something useful, combat fighting was quite tiring. It had felt good, though, practicing kicks and punches on the cloth dummies Buffy had set up around her classroom. Harry thought he'd never be able to move quite the way she could, all graceful as if she were dancing the ballet rather than beating the stuffing out of a defenseless dummy, but his Quidditch reflexes made him one of the best in his class, at least. He smiled to himself as he remembered Neville attempting kick his dummy, only to have it swing back and send him flying. 

Harry's smile disintegrated when he reached the door to Snape's office. This would be the first time he'd been alone with Snape since he'd been caught in the man's Pensieve, and he wasn't looking forward to the experience. Still, he had promised Dumbledore, and after what had happened last June, Harry knew it was important to protect his mind against Voldemort. Straightening his shoulders resolutely, Harry knocked at the door. 

"Enter!" Snape's voice snapped from behind the wooden barrier. Harry opened the door and stepped inside quietly, shutting it behind him with a soft click. He looked Snape directly in the eyes--he refused to feel guilty about what he had seen. The way his father and Sirius had treated Snape had been awful, true, but it was hardly his fault, after all, and Harry had nothing to be ashamed of. He told himself this over and over as Snape stared him down, his beady eyes willing Harry's green ones to look away first. Finally, Snape sneered and broke eye contact to pick up his wand from the desk. 

"Let us begin," he said, his voice frosty and harsh. "I have as little desire to be here as you do, witnessing your pathetic childhood traumas. Draw your wand and face me. You know what to do." 

Harry nodded once and raised his wand, trying to clear his mind of all emotion and feeling. As tired as he was physically, this was surprisingly easy to do. _"Legilimens!"_ Snape shouted suddenly. 

Harry was running through a torch lit hallway, through a circular room with many doors, into a stone amphitheater with a raised dais. Curses flew around him in red and purple streaks as he stumbled down the steps, toward his godfather, who stood laughing at the dark haired woman standing before him. _"Is that the best you can do?"_

_No!_ Harry thought frantically. _I can't!_

A shooting pain spread up his right leg as Harry shook abruptly from the memory to find himself kneeling on the cold stone of the dungeon floor. "A Burning Hex, interesting choice," Snape gasped, clutching his right shoulder. "Get up," he said, his dark eyes angry. "You're not _trying._ You cannot allow me to delve so deeply." 

Harry stood unsteadily, his mind a whorl of confusion and pain at having witnessed that awful memory once again. He saw it in his sleep several nights a week, but this... it was as if he was actually there again, watching Sirius fall through the tattered curtain. Before he really had time to consider what he'd experienced, Snape was pointing his wand at him and glaring. Harry raised his own wand, trying frantically to clear his mind. _"Legilimens!"_ Snape yelled. 

Pictures from his childhood sped through Harry's mind, almost as if he were watching a slide show of all the horrid things the Dursleys had ever done to him. A fleeting image of his five year old self, locked in his dark cupboard crying into his pillow. Another of him at age eight, being chased by Dudley and his friends at primary. Suddenly the images shifted, grew darker. Ginny lying lifeless on the floor of the Chamber of Secrets. _You'll be back with your dear Mudblood mother soon, Harry,_ Tom Riddle's voice mocked him. 

_No,_ Harry thought to himself. _I won't let him see that! I won't!_ An incredibly feeling of determination flooded through him, and Harry concentrated all his energy on it. He could still hear Riddle's derisive laugh, telling him he was too late to save Ginny, but it seemed farther away, distant somehow. He did not want Snape to see these things, to know these things about him. He found if he focused all his mental powers on Snape, and only Snape, he could actually see his professor dimly, as if through a glass darkly. The picture gradually became clearer, until Snape snapped into sharp focus. _"Intempero Inrideo!"_ Harry shouted. 

Snape doubled over in uncontrollable laughter as the Tickling Jinx hit him square on. Harry stared--he didn't think he'd ever seen Snape smile properly, much less laugh himself silly. Snape struggled to point his wand at himself, still doubled over. _"Fin...finite Incantatum!"_ he giggled, ending the spell. 

Snape stared at him thoughtfully, assessing. "What was that first place, in the dark?" he asked. 

Harry glared at the older man, trying to control his anger. Snape had no right to know these things about him! Of all his professors, Snape was the one he least wanted to know how truly terrible and humiliating his childhood had been. "It was my cupboard," he muttered angrily, "where I slept until I came to Hogwarts." He stared Snape in the eyes, as if daring him to laugh or mock. 

"You're letting me get too far in," Snape said instead, "showing me things you can't possibly wish me to see. Occlumency takes force of will. Perhaps you're simply too weak to master it, after all." He gave Harry a shrewd look. 

Harry glared back at him. "Just get on with it," he snarled. 

They practiced for another half an hour before Snape finally let him go. "And Potter," Snape said as Harry opened the door to leave, "do practice. The better you become at Occlumency, the sooner we can end these cozy little private sessions of ours." 

Harry nodded and left as quickly as he could. He was already getting better, he could tell. He would practice this time. He didn't want any of his friends getting hurt because of him, not again. And Snape was right, for once. The sooner he mastered Occlumency, the better. 

September seemed to fly by in a haze of classes, Quidditch, D.A. meetings, and extra lessons. Harry felt as if he'd never get enough sleep. Each night he fell exhausted into bed, wishing he didn't have to wake up early the next morning for Quidditch practice, and yet each morning he was the first out to the pitch, already making loops across the sky by the time his team showed up. 

Harry was determined to get his team in shape for the upcoming match against Slytherin. At first practices had been disastrous. Colin couldn't seem to get the hang of aiming Bludgers, and he kept forgetting that he wasn't allowed to attack the Keeper when he was still in the Keeping zone. Seamus could aim and defend fairly well, when he managed to hit the Bludger at all. For the first two weeks of practice he'd missed the Bludger as many times as he'd hit it, frustrating Harry to no end. His Chasers were doing quite well, though, with both Ginny and Katie able to help Emma get the hang of things. Harry wished wistfully for the Weasley twins, but tried not to dwell on his old teammates. Instead he scheduled more practices, until his team was training nearly everyday, to their utmost disgust. 

But finally, Harry thought with a smile as he and Ron wrestled the Quidditch balls into their box after yet another early morning practice, his team was starting to really come together. Ginny, Katie, and Emma had worked out some excellent tactics with a bit of help from Ron, and their moves were looking really good. Harry wondered about the Slytherin Keeper. Who would Malfoy be using this year, and would he be decent? If he wasn't brilliant, Harry didn't think Slytherin would stand a chance against his Chasers. Colin and Seamus still needed a lot of practice, but they were coming along nicely too. Seamus had only missed the Bludger four times that practice, and he was really working hard to improve. Harry knew his team wanted to beat Slytherin as much as he did. Although they looked tired and irritable every morning, they still came and practiced with all they had. If they didn't beat Slytherin in the match in three weeks, it wouldn't be from lack of trying. 

Harry and Ron headed up to the castle to change and shower before breakfast. It was still quite early, and the sun was only really beginning to shine. The air rushed around them in a chilly, gusting breeze and they quickened their pace, wanting to get out of the cold. While he had been practicing, Harry had hardly noticed the cold, but now his hands seemed to be turning to ice and his teeth chattered harder with every gust of wind. 

With no other thought in his head aside from the long hot shower that awaited him, Harry rushed up the front stairs of the entryway, rubbing his arms and still shivering from the wind. If it weren't for Ron pulling him into an empty classroom, he would have ran straight into his Defense professors whispering urgently to each other in the corridor. 

"Ow, Ron," Harry complained. "Have you gone mad? I want a shower!" 

Ron glared at him, pressing a finger to his lips. He jerked his head toward the hallway, where their Defense professors were still talking. 

"Do you really think this is a good idea, Buffy?" Willow was asking, concern written clearly on her face. "I thought you quit the Council for good. Why should we work with them now?" 

"Will, you know what we came here to do," Buffy argued heatedly. "Faith is useless to us, rotting in jail." 

"Plus, there's that whole, 'she's a homicidal maniac' factor," Willow said. "But I still don't feel right about this. What if they try something again? How can we trust them?" 

"Now that we know which one we can use, we have to go through with it. We don't have a choice Will, you know that," Buffy replied, her voice hard and determined. She glanced around the corridor. "The students will be up soon, we shouldn't talk about this here. Until we have what we came here for, we have to be on super stealth mode." 

"I guess you're right," Willow agreed. The two girls moved off down the hall and rounded the corner out of sight. Harry turned to Ron, seeing his own feelings of shock and confusion mirrored in his friend's face. 

"What do you suppose that was all about?" Ron whispered. 

Harry shook his head and moved toward the door. The headed up to the common room, whispering to each other as they went. "What's this 'Council' Willow was talking about?" Ron asked. "Could it be something to do with the Order, do you think?" 

"No," Harry replied, "because Buffy must have been a part of it at one time, or worked for it. But she doesn't any longer--Willow said she'd quit. There are just so many things in that conversation I didn't understand. But Ron, it seemed... didn't it seem as if they were plotting something to do with a student? Something that might be dangerous?" 

Ron nodded. "They said they'd found the one they could use. Use for what, I wonder? Use against Voldemort somehow?" 

Harry frowned. "I don't think so." He knew, of course, that if they needed a student to help in the fight against Voldemort, they'd have come to him already. He was fated to confront Voldemort eventually, or die trying. But Buffy had said they'd found the one... No, it had to be something else. "It must be for their own purposes," Harry said. 

"What are they here for then, if not to teach us? They have their own reasons. It didn't look good Harry. In fact, the whole conversation seemed quite dodgy to me." 

Harry sighed as they came to a stop in front of the Fat Lady's portrait. "Buffy is the Slayer, Ron," he said, trying to sound as if he believed his own reassurances. "She wouldn't do anything to jeopardize a student. She's on the good side." 

"We don't know anything about them, Harry," Ron argued. "Willow is really powerful. If something went wrong and she lost control, can you imagine the damage she could do? I don't want to sound like Hermione or anything, but maybe we should do a spot of research, read up on Slayers and such. Just to be safe." 

Harry hated the feelings of suspicion sneaking through his thoughts. He wanted to trust his professors, and trust Dumbledore, who had chosen them. But Dumbledore trusted where others wouldn't, Harry knew, and his choice in Defense professors was notoriously poor and occasionally deadly. If Buffy and Willow were planning something to do with a student, something that may be dangerous, it couldn't hurt to be prepared. "Just to be safe," Harry agreed after a long pause, echoing Ron's words. "We're just taking a few precautions. Its not as if we're accusing them of anything." 

"Course not," Ron agreed. "Now budge up if you're not going in. I need a shower before breakfast." He sniffed the air delicately. "You could use one too, mate. You stink." Harry laughed and gave the password to the Fat Lady, resolutely putting aside thoughts of the conversation they'd overheard. It wouldn't do any good to dwell on words he'd barely understood. They'd tell Hermione about it, and start reading up on Slayers. There was nothing he could do about it until then. 

Unfortunately they had a double Defense lesson that morning with Willow, so it wasn't long before Harry was once again wondering about the suspicious conversation he'd overheard. Who was this Faith person, he wondered, and why was she in prison? Could she possibly be in Azkaban? What had she done for them that they needed to replace her? His rambling thoughts were interrupted by Willow clearing her throat loudly in annoyance. He looked up from his doodling to find her staring at him expectantly. 

"Did you even hear the question, Harry?" Willow asked, her green eyes flashing. 

Harry shook his head guiltily. "Sorry, no. I was... er..." He tried desperately to think of an excuse, but gave up with a shrug. 

Willow smiled. "Its okay, I was always total zone out girl in my high school chem class. I was just asking which goddess you'd call on if you wanted to turn yourself or someone else into a rat?" 

Harry stiffened at the question, his mind instantly turning to Wormtail. Hermione's voice piped up before Harry could get over his momentary confusion. "Its Hecate, Willow," she said excitedly. "I've read all about animal transfiguration spells in the Grimmoire. For us, cross species switches on humans is very difficult, but the spell in the Grimmoire seemed quite simple." Harry glanced over at his friend and shook his head a little at her extreme enthusiasm. He'd truly never met anyone so excited about learning as Hermione always was. 

Willow smiled mischievously. "Well, the turning someone into a rat part is pretty easy," she admitted, her eyes twinkling. "Its the changing them back part that's really hard." She giggled. "One of my friends turned herself into a rat during high school, well actually to get away from a bunch of parents who were possessed by this evil spirit thing, and I didn't figure out how to turn her back for almost four years," she admitted. "We had to keep her in a cage and everything." The class stared at her in horror. Harry shuddered. He couldn't imagine being trapped as a rat for so long, missing out on so many things. Living in a _cage._ "It had a wheel, and I gave her plenty of treats!" Willow exclaimed defensively. The class laughed at her joke. 

Willow told them to pair up and they'd take turns turning their partners into rats. Then they could attempt to reverse the spell. "The reverse spell is really hard though," she warned them. "Don't worry if you can't do it. I have plenty of cages in the supply cabinet," she joked deadpan. "On second thought, just call me if you get your partners to transform, and I'll change them back." 

Ron and Hermione immediately paired up, leaving Harry to pair with, to his horror, Neville. Harry swallowed. Although he'd been improving a lot over the past year, Neville still made a lot of mistakes and had a notoriously poor memory. What if he got the invocation wrong somehow, and Hecate possessed him or, worse, decided to kill him? Harry eyed Neville nervously. "Shall I try it, then?" he asked the other boy. Maybe he could avoid Neville performing the spell on him at all. 

Neville seemed quite nervous as well. "Just, be careful Harry. I don't fancy ending up as someone's pet for the rest of my life," he tried to joke. 

Harry gave Neville a small smile and cleared his throat. All around him the voices of his classmates rang out, chanting the invocation spell. Harry closed his eyes and tried to clear his mind, leaving it open to the goddess he was trying to invoke. After weeks of practicing Occlumency, Harry found that he could wipe his mind of thoughts quite easily, particularly when Professor Snape wasn't there, sneering at him. "Goddess Hecate work thy will!" he chanted in a clear, deep voice. "Before thee let the unclean thing crawl!" 

_What is it you wish of me, mortal?_ he heard a voice, terrible and yet somehow beautiful screaming in his head. _Why do you disturb my slumbers?_

Harry's eyes clenched shut even more and he bit his lip at the harshness of the voice inside his head. _Concentrate, Harry!_ he told himself firmly. _I need you to turn Neville into a rat,_ he thought at the goddess inside his mind. 

_A simple enough request,_ she replied. His head felt suddenly light and blissfully silent. Harry's eyes snapped open suddenly, against his will, and he felt a burning sensation crawling over the surface of them. Gold lights shot from his fingers at Neville to swirl around him, obscuring him almost completely from view. Harry's eyes fell shut once again, and when he opened them Neville was gone. Where Neville had stood, a small, quivering rat cringed in his place, attempting to scurry deeper into the folds of Neville's abandoned robes. Harry grinned and bent down to pick up Neville the rat. He'd done it, and on the first try! It had been hard for him, trying to do wandless magic. He always felt frustrated coming out of Willow's classes, as if he'd never master any of this enough for it to actually be of use. But this spell had come so easily, and Harry finally felt as if he were learning something. Maybe this Muggle magic stuff wasn't useless after all. 

"Willow!" he called out, holding up Neville for her to see. "I've done it. Now how do I turn him back?" 

Willow smiled and took Neville from him. "I'll do it," she said. Neville squeaked at her. "I'm going to put you down now," she warned him. "Don't move." 

"Er, Willow?" Harry asked hesitantly. "Its just, Neville is a rat. And he's not wearing any clothes. When you turn him back, will he..." 

Willow smacked her forehead with her palm. "Oh, darn it!" she exclaimed. "I totally forgot. No, you're right. He'll be naked," she admitted. 

The rest of the class was staring at the three of them now. Some of them were giggling at Neville's predicament, while Hermione was busily taking notes. No one else had managed to transform their partners, and Harry had to wonder why it had come so easily to him when nothing else about this Muggle magic had. Still, he couldn't help but feel pleased that he'd done something not even a roomful of Ravenclaws had managed. . 

Willow blushed. "Let's put Neville and his, um, robes into the supply closet. I can do the spell from out here. That'll work, right?" 

Unfortunately the closet was full of weaponry that Buffy had stored there. Harry couldn't help but stare at the array of deadly weapons. She couldn't possibly expect to train them on everything from crossbows to double headed axes, could she? Harry exchanged a glance with Ron. What did Buffy need all these weapons for? Did it have anything to do with the conversation they'd heard that morning? 

After the students had lugged all the weapons out of the closet, including an extremely heavy sledge hammer that took four of the strongest boys to move, Willow tossed Neville's robes into the enclosure. Neville followed his clothing, squeaking indignantly. She shut the door and closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. _"Revele!"_ she yelled out suddenly. _"'Cio che fu non e piu. Cio che fu fatto disfa. Passato e il pericolo, finita e la prova. Metti le cosa a posto!"_

A breeze seemed to whip through the classroom, mussing Harry's hair and making it even more messy than it normally was. A loud crash came from inside the closet, followed by Neville cursing. After a few minutes Neville came out of the closet, robes rumpled and eyes wild. "Never again!" he told them in a shaky voice. The class laughed and Neville smiled shyly. 

Willow cleared her throat. "Wasn't that fun?" The class stared at her blankly. "Kidding!" she exclaimed. "I'll let you go early. I think we've done enough damage for one day." Harry began gathering up his things, thinking that they could use the extra time to tell Hermione about the conversation he and Ron had heard, and maybe start researching Slayers. Before he could go, he felt a light touch on his arm and turned to face Willow. She smiled. "Can I talk to you for a sec?" 

Harry motioned to Hermione and Ron to leave without him and turned back to Willow. "Did I do something wrong?" he asked nervously. "I mean, the spell... wasn't that the way it was supposed to work?" 

"Oh! No, you did great with the rat thing. That's not what I want to talk to you about." She walked across the room and closed the door. "Professor Dumbledore, he wants me to give you some, um, private lessons," she explained quietly, obviously not wanting anyone to overhear her. She sat on top of her desk, fidgeting nervously. Harry thought she looked tired, far more worn than she had at the beginning of the lesson. 

"Er, okay. My schedule is really busy with Quidditch and everything, but if Professor Dumbledore wants me to have it, than I suppose I should go ahead and do it," Harry said. He honestly didn't know how he would fit in yet another lesson into his already packed schedule. Maybe McGonagall could get him a Time Turner, like the one Hermione had used to get to all her extra lessons third year. But no, McGonagall had had to write to the Ministry and explain about how Hermione was such a model student and would never abuse the privilege. The Ministry had spent the past year going on about how deranged Harry was, and even if it hadn't, he was far from a model students. And that thing had made Hermione crazy. He'd find the time. He had to. Dumbeldore obviously thought it would help him, and Harry had decided long ago that anything thing he could do to prepare for his confrontation with Voldemort, any advantage he could take, he would. 

Willow still sat on the desk, twisting her hands into her skirt and biting her bottom lip. She was terribly pretty, Harry couldn't help but think, with her hair that seemed to encompass all colors of red, and her sparkling green eyes.. He shook his head. She was a _professor._ Hermione would have kittens if she knew he had a crush on their Defense teacher. "Er, is there something else?" he asked, because she seemed to be trying to work up the courage to say more. 

She nodded. "I just... I have to warn you before we get any deeper into the magics." She raised her head finally, her green eyes meeting his own with a searching, almost frightened look of concern. "These forces, they don't want to be controlled. They'll take advantage of you, if they can. They'll take you _over._ If you lose it, they'll serve you their way, and you could end up doing things... awful things." Her voice was hoarse with unshed tears, and all Harry could do was stare. He had no idea what to do when Hermione cried, much less when someone he barely knew cried, that person being his teacher, of all people. His experience with Cho had really made him wary of weepy girls. He found himself hoping desperately that she simply wouldn't cry. 

Willow made a visible effort to pull herself together. She gave him a hard look, pressing her lips together in a thin, strained line. "Please don't tell your friends this, Harry, but last year I lost control. I... lost someone, and it drove me crazy. I _became_ vengeance, and I did things. Things you can't even imagine." Her voice was low and harsh, almost angry. The sound of it made Harry start, and the intenseness of her eyes made him want to look away, but he forced himself to meet her searching look. 

Harry swallowed. "I've done things I'm ashamed of, too," he told her. "Things that hurt people I cared about. I've lost someone as well." 

Willow nodded in understanding. "Your godfather, right? Dumbledore told me. But that wasn't your fault, Harry. He was murdered. I... I killed someone." She closed her eyes and swallowed hard. "I'm telling you this so you know what can happen, if you let your emotions take over. I skinned a man alive, without even so much as a tiny twinge of conscience. He begged and pleaded with me, but I wouldn't listen." She opened her eyes and looked him in the eye steadily, although he could see the tears shining there. "He murdered the love of my life, and I didn't care about anything anymore, except vengeance. I wanted him to die, and die painfully. I enjoyed hearing him beg for his life." 

Harry felt a surge of horror at her story, but also of understanding. He remembered the terrible feelings of overwhelming anger and hatred that had overcome him when he had seen his godfather hit by Bellatrix Lestrange's spell, seen him fall gracefully through the tattered veil and out of his life forever. He had wanted to kill her, he remembered. But more than that, he had wanted to _hurt_ her. When he'd attacked her in the lobby of the Ministry, it hadn't been the Killing Curse he'd yelled. It had been Cruciatus, the Unforgivable curse used to torture people, sometimes into madness. He'd wanted her to suffer and feel excruciating pain, the way he was suffering and feeling pain. He found himself nodding, his throat tightening as tears threatened. 

"I... I understand," he said finally. She began to protest, but he held up his hand. "No, really. When Sirius died, I wanted to kill the woman who'd done it. Not only that, I wanted her to _suffer._ I cast an Unforgivable curse on her. An illegal curse worth a lifetime sentence in Azkaban, just to see her writhing in pain the same way I already was." He laughed softly, bitterly. "I failed, didn't give her more than a brief twinge. She said I had to really _want_ to inflict pain--to enjoy it--to cast the curse. There had to be real desire to hurt behind it." 

Willow put a comforting hand on his shoulder. "You know what its like, to lose control. That's good. Because it can't happen, Harry. Not with these kinds of magics." She smiled wanly. "Not unless you want to end up turning your friends inside out, anyway." 

"I understand," Harry said. "When do you want to meet?" 

Harry had to run to catch up with Ron and Hermione for their next lesson, which was Defense again, but with Buffy this time. Double Defense was never so confusing as when he had to switch teachers and classrooms in the middle. He caught up with them just as they were rounding the bend in the corridor their next lesson was on. 

"Oh good, Harry. You won't be late," Hermione said by way of greeting. "What did Willow want to talk to you about?" 

"Later," Harry muttered as the three of them entered the classroom, which had been emptied of desks and chairs after their very first lesson. Instead the room was littered with stuffed cloth dummies hanging from the ceiling and several piles of the long wooden staffs they had only just started to train on. Harry suspected that Buffy kept all her sharp weapons in the other classroom in the cabinet mainly to keep them away from students. She had told the class only the week before that they'd have to master the staff before learning any other weapons, to a chorus of disappointed groans. The staff was boring and slow, but Buffy was insistent. 

In preparation for the class, most of the students were already practicing their kicks and punches on the hanging dummies, or else pulling off their long robes and replacing them with the chest, arm, and shin pads that Buffy kept stored in a large trunk that had recently begun to stink of the combined old sweat of several class's worth of use. As Harry pulled on his own pads, he wondered if Buffy ever took the time to perform a simple Cleaning Charm on them. But then, he guessed she couldn't really do that, nor did she seem like the type of person who would think of something like that. 

Hermione seemed to be wondering the same thing as she pulled a set of pads out of the trunk, wrinkling her nose against the smell. "Ugh, I hate these things," she complained as she began strapping them on. 

"They're for your own safety," Ron told her primly, strapping his pads on with relish, obviously imaging what sorts of combat skills they'd learn that day. While Harry enjoyed these lessons with Buffy, Ron seemed to really love them. He even practiced in his free time, and often tried to get Harry and Hermione to spar with him. 

Harry always knew when Buffy had entered the classroom, because the room fell immediately silent and all eyes turned toward the door. The class assembled in the center of the room as Buffy walked to the front before turning to face them. She cleared her throat. "Okay so, last time we just practiced with the stick things--the staffs, I mean--and did some group maneuvers. I thought today maybe we could pair up and try to do some sparring, what do you say?" The class remained silent, which she must have taken as a good sign, because she said, "I guess that's a good. Yay me. Choose a partner near your own height, and don't aim for the head! I don't relish trying to clean bits of Ravenclaw from the floor." 

Buffy gestured that Ron, who was taller than anyone else in the class by at least a head, should pair up with her. Harry shrugged and turned to Hermione, but she had already paired up with a shorter girl from Ravenclaw. Harry ended up pairing off with Terry Boot. They both fetched staffs from the corner and faced off near the center of the room. Harry wasn't really sure how to begin. Then Terry said, "Er, right. On the count of three?" 

Harry nodded and prepared himself as Terry counted off. On three they both lunged forward and their staffs clacked together loudly. Harry back off a bit and changed his grip so that he held the staff near one end with both hands. When Terry lunged again Harry was ready for him. He ducked under Terry's swinging staff and swung his own staff out in a wide arc, circling behind Terry's legs and smacking into the backs of his calves with a resounding thud. Terry stumbled backward, but didn't fall as Harry had intended him too. Harry jumped up and lunged forward, trying to take advantage of Terry while he was off-balance. The maneuver worked; unprepared for another attack so quickly, Terry failed to block Harry's attack and swung wildly instead, allowing Harry to knock his staff from his hands. 

"Good one," Terry said as he bent to retrieve his staff. He froze as he gazed past Harry to a pair sparring across the room. "Oh, look at that," he muttered, pointing. 

Harry turned to watch. Buffy and Ron were sparring. Although Ron was at least a foot taller than the Slayer, he was having a lot of trouble just holding her off. And from the slow, almost lazy way that Buffy was moving, Harry could tell that she was holding back. Ron tried a similar kind of move to the one Harry had attempted on Terry, but Buffy merely jumped easily over his staff and sent the end of her own weapon into Ron's chest pad with a swift, sure movement. With a look of comic disbelief on his face, Ron flew backward a few feet before landing in an undignified heap on the stone floor of the classroom. 

Buffy had Ron pair up with Neville and Dean while she began circling the room, observing the class. Harry felt a surge of elation when she remarked, "Well, you don't _completely_ suck," which from her, he knew, was a genuine compliment. 

The class ended after a good half hour of sparring. They were all unstrapping their pads and piling their staffs in the corner when Buffy cleared her throat to signal that she had an announcement. "You guys did pretty well today, and hey, no one got seriously injured, which is always a plus. I know the staff is really boring, but its a basic weapon and I've used it lots of times. Well, I've used pool cues lots of times, and they're pretty much the same thing, right? So for, um, homework, everyone should practice for at least another hour before next week. And before you start groaning," she said, cutting off groans from Parvati and Lavender, who blushed furiously, "remember that we can't do anything fun until you master the staff." 

"Like the crossbow?" someone called out from the back. 

Buffy laughed. "You wouldn't know what to do with a crossbow if it bit you in the--um, well, that's not important and anyway crossbows don't usually have teeth so it wouldn't really... unless it was possessed by some kind of bitey demon..." she trailed off, flushing. "So um, practice. And then maybe we'll do swords before Christmas vacation." 

The class left the room, sweaty and tired, but excited about the prospect of learning how to sword fight. Before Harry and Ron could launch into a discussion about it, Hermione turned to Harry with an expectant look in her eye. "So," she began excitedly, "what did Willow want with you?" 

Harry looked around the Room of Requirement, smiling tiredly with satisfaction at his fellow D.A. members. Ron had made a lucky find of a Boggart living in one of the unused lockers of the Quidditch changing rooms, so they had finally been able to practice Patronuses against dementors. Well, not real dementors, but the next best thing, anyway. Most of them had succeeded, to Harry's great surprise and pleasure. They'd been practicing for over an hour now, and Harry had had enough of dementors. He was even starting to dislike the taste of chocolate, he'd eaten so much in the past hour. 

The D.A. members started to leave as Harry, Ron, and Hermione locked the Boggart in an empty trunk to store it for future practice. Some milled around, talking about the meeting, while others chewed grimly on their chocolate. "Good meeting tonight, that," Ron commented as he and Harry each took a handle of the trunk and headed for the door, Hermione following close behind. 

Harry only nodded. It had been a long day, but even so he always looked forward to the D.A. meetings. The other students were progressing really nicely. Most of them had been able to produce a Patronus against the Boggart Dementor, and they had all mastered the basics of Stunning and Disarming, as well as several very useful hexes and jinxes. Hermione had been working diligently in her free time on some of the potions they'd found that summer. She had nearly finished the Agility potion, and was also working on the very tricky Chronos Concoction. Harry was excited for their next meeting the following week. He'd been practicing some good jinxes in what little spare time he had, and he couldn't wait to teach them to everyone else. 

Harry sighed contentedly as he climbed into bed a few minutes later. Although the D.A. took up a lot of his time, he was really proud of everything they had accomplished so far. His members were improving really quickly, especially Neville, who seemed to gain more confidence every time he successfully mastered some new hex or blocking spell. He felt proud of their accomplishments, but he was also amazed at the way they had all banded together and bonded so easily, despite being from three different houses. It was exciting to see them acting with such solidarity to defeat a threat so much bigger than petty house rivalries. 

Harry's thoughts slipped quickly into dreams. He was floating high above the school, soaring on the strong gusts of wind that rushed across the forest. He loved the feeling of freedom he always got when he flew, as if he'd left all his worries on the ground and he could finally just be Harry, with nothing hanging over his head. No death threats, no responsibilities, just the incredibly exhilarating feeling of the wind rushing against his face. 

He flew over a large city and several small towns before soaring lower and lower, until he flew straight through an open window and into a dim, cold room. "Here is the reply," a high, cold voice hissed. Was that his voice? Harry asked himself frantically. He seemed to be speaking, and yet had no control over his movements or speech. 

"Yes, we must go ahead with the plan," he said. He recognized the voice now. It wasn't his, it was Voldemort's, and Harry was not dreaming. He was having another vision, seeing things through Voldemort, through the connection he had to the Dark Wizard through his scar. He desperately wanted to hear whatever plans Voldemort had, but he knew he couldn't allow that desire to get ahold of him. He had to wake up, to break the connection! He struggled mentally, trying to wake himself up. He couldn't expose himself like this to Voldemort again! He _had_ to close his mind to it! Harry struggled frantically to separate himself from the consciousness that seemed to be pulling him in, deeper and deeper into the alien void that was Voldemort's mind. _No!_ Harry repeated to himself over and over, but his own consciousness grew dim, fading until he could no longer retain specific thoughts of his own... 

"We have to get the girl," he told the woman kneeling worshipfully in front of him. He reached out a skeletal white hand to caress her dark, shining hair. She gazed up at him with dark lidded eyes. She was beautiful, he thought with cool detachment, but more importantly she was a loyal and perfect servant, willing to die for him and his cause if necessary. 

"Yes, master," she murmured. He dark eyes shown with excitement and a maniacal fire that delighted him. "She will be yours." 

"Excellent. You please me tonight, Bella. Be sure not to fail me, as Wormtail here, has done." He gestured to a short, balding man whimpering pathetically from his prone position on the carpeted floor of the room. He felt his lip curl in a sneer at the sight of the twitching man. Useful as Wormtail had once been to him, he was now nothing but a weak, pathetic fool. Just the simple sight of him filled Voldemort with disgust. "He has... displeased me as of late. Perhaps a small reminder of the consequences of my displeasure will be enough to ensure his success, wouldn't you agree?" He pointed his wand at the quivering man. 

Bella smiled, a ghost of a smile really, her teeth yellowed and stained, dark eyes haunted and crazed from her years at the mercies of the dementors. "Oh yes, master," she replied gleefully. Voldemort felt himself smiling. She delighted in the pain of others nearly as much as he did. "Just a small reminder would do." 

"No, please!" Wormtail pleaded. "Not again!" 

He laughed cruelly. _"Crucio!"_ he hissed. A stabbing pain shot through his forehead and he screamed harshly. His head felt as if it had split in two, and he could hear voices shouting around him, arms grabbing him. He tried to pull away, but the pain in his head was excruciating. He could barely breath, let alone move. Something seemed to pull and snap inside him, and suddenly he found himself wide awake, sitting up in his curtained four poster at Hogwarts, screaming himself hoarse. 

"Harry!" Ron yelled. "Snap out of it!" Harry couldn't seem to stop screaming, although his voice was beginning to give. He felt disoriented, as if he were in two places at once, and the horror of realizing that he had actually _been_ Voldemort for a few minutes, had seen Bellatrix Lestrange, had touched her, was simply too much for him. He had felt something like affection for the vile creature, as much as Voldemort could really _feel_ anything. He couldn't think or feel, except to scream his horror. 

_Crack!_ Harry felt a blossom of pain across his cheek as Ron smacked him hard across the face. His voice fell silent abruptly, and he sat stock still in silence for a few moments, confused. But the physical contact seemed to have snapped him out of the state of shock he'd been momentarily trapped in. Harry shook his head, and suddenly his mind was his own again, and he felt sick with what he had experienced and heard. A wave of sickness suddenly overwhelmed him. Harry turned and vomited onto the floor at Ron's feet. Ron patted his back in an attempt to comfort his friend, and Harry looked up at him, horror written clearly on his young face. It was the look in Ron's eyes that truly brought him back to himself: sadness, tenderness, fear and concern flitted in their chocolate brown depths. Harry took a deep breath, grimacing at the taste of having revisited his dinner in his mouth. 

"He has some sort of plan," Harry whispered, his voice almost completely gone from screaming. Neville, Dean, Seamus, and Ron were all gathered around his bed, staring at him. 

"Was it another nightmare?" Ron asked hesitantly, as if he didn't really want to hear the answer. 

Harry shook his head. "Not a nightmare," he choked out. "He said, he needs to get the girl. Couldn't tell who or what he meant by that." 

Neville stared at him in horror. "Him? Not... surely not... You-Know-Who?" 

Harry lay back on his bed weakly. "Please, I need to sleep," he whispered. He turned over and buried his face in his pillow. 

"Harry," Ron started, reaching out to touch Harry's shoulder. Harry jerked away quickly. 

"Just, leave me be," he whispered. "Need to sleep..." 

"Should I go fetch McGonagall?" Seamus asked nervously. 

"No," Ron said thoughtfully. "He'll tell Dumbledore in the morning. He just needs to sleep now. We all do." 

But Harry didn't sleep. He lay awake the rest of the night, listening to the other boys as they each fell into sleep at last, their soft snores filling the room. Harry stared at his bed hangings and tried desperately not to think about the scene he had just witnessed, and the immense pleasure he had derived from inflicting such terrible pain upon the man responsible for his parents' deaths. 


	6. Seeing Red

Chapter 6: Seeing Red 

_"No, it doesn't stop! It never stops! Do you think I chose to be like this? Do you have any idea how lonely it is, how dangerous? I would love to be upstairs watching TV or gossiping about boys or... God, even studying! But I have to save the world... again." Buffy, Becoming, Part II_

Hermione gave him a long lecture the next morning at breakfast about the importance of Occlumency and his need to tell Dumbledore about his dream. "If you don't, I will!" she told him wildly. "I don't care if you never talk to me again, Harry! This is simply too important for you to go about being all stoic and stiff upper-lipped!" 

Harry shook his head tiredly and nibbled half-heartedly at his toast. Before he had a chance to answer, a host of grey school owls swooped down in front of them, dropping three identical notes on the table. Exchanging confused glances with his friends, Harry opened the note addressed to him and immediately groaned when he saw the signature. 

_Mr. Potter,_ it read in a decidedly nasty scrawl, _Your detention will be served tonight at seven o'clock sharp in the lowest unused dungeon. Do not be late. Tardiness will result in an additional detention. Professor S. Snape_

"I see you've each got a note as well," Ginny grumbled, plopping down into the seat next to Harry's. "Sodding git. Thought he'd forgotten about it. It wasn't fair, giving _us_ detentions for making threats when the Slytherins are so provoking. It would be doing a disservice to all of Hogwarts to _restrain_ myself from cursing Malfoy." 

"Don't be silly, Ginny," Hermione said primly. "Of course he wouldn't forget. And now that I've had a few weeks to think about it, I've realized that he was quite right to give us detention." She frowned and heaved a great sigh. "I'm afraid I've been ignoring my duties as prefect, and this punishment will do nicely to remind me." 

"Well I'm a bloody prefect as well," Ron complained, "but there's absolutely no way I'll ever thank that greasy haired git for giving me detention." 

Hermione shrugged and unrolled her copy of the Daily Prophet, which had been delivered while Harry had been reading his note from Snape. As of late, Hermione had taken to reading the paper through, scanning for clues as to what was happening with the war against Voldemort. Thus far everything had been relatively quiet. Harry was relieved, but at the same time filled with apprehension. He shook his head and gestured toward the paper. "It's not that I want anyone to get killed," he told them. "I simply don't understand why nothing's happened yet. It's been ages since the Ministry finally admitted--" 

"Oh oh oh!" Hermione exclaimed, her brown eyes wide. She dropped the paper as if it had scorched her and her hands flew to cover her mouth. She stared at the Prophet in utter horror, and Harry felt his stomach drop sickeningly. It had happened, then. The war had begun.. 

"What is it, woman? Have you gone mad?" Ron asked fearfully. He snatched up the paper and scanned the headlines. "Bloody hell!" he exclaimed. His eyes connected with Harry's, their brown depths filled with anger and helpless frustration. "They've escaped." 

Harry took the paper from him and Ginny leaned in closer to read the headlines with him. _Three Escape From Azkaban, Several Aurors Dead,_ the headline read. "Harry," Hermione said, her voice a trembling whisper. "Read it aloud, would you? I didn't get a chance..." 

Harry cleared his throat. "Last night at precisely midnight, an unknown number of dementors attacked Azkaban prison directed by masked persons believed to be connected to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, killing two aurors and injuring several others. Azkaban has long been believed invulnerable to penetration. Following the escape of convicted murderer and known madman Sirius Black in 1993 and that of six top security prisoners just last year, the Ministry of Magic redoubled security to prevent such breaches from reoccurring. Aurors were enlisted to provide security upon the defection of the dementors only a few months ago." Harry paused here, taking a deep breath. They'd mentioned Sirius in the article. No one knew that he had died defending the very world that condemned him, that still believed him to be a crazed murdered. 

Ginny touched him lightly on the shoulder. "Do you want me to finish, Harry?" she asked gently. 

Harry gritted his teeth against her sympathetic tone and shook his head. He didn't need to be coddled. He wanted to yell at her, at all of them to stop feeling so damn sorry for him. He wished they would start thinking about what being close to him meant. It meant you would end up in danger at least once a year, or worse, he thought grimly. 

Harry sighed and continued. "Dementors attacked four Aurors at the highest security level of the Prison. The dementors were aided by several unidentified wizards assumed to be followers of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. The Aurors' attempts to prevent the escape of the three prisoners were thwarted and the guards were overwhelmed. Aurors Emmeline Vance and Orion Bently were Kissed and are currently in St. Mungo's Hospital, awaiting spell reversal. 

"The prisoners in question, Lucius Malfoy, Rudoplphus Lestrange, and Anthony Dolohov, all known Death Eaters, escaped as a result of the attack. 'The Minister is doing everything he can to find those responsible and bring them to justice,' said Percy Wetherby, assistant to Cornelius Fudge. The Minister has been quoted as saying that the incident was 'tragic' and the families of the victims will be 'duly compensated.' Their families will be presented with the Order of Merlin, Second Class, on their behalf, in a ceremony to be held at the Ministry at a later date." 

Harry let the paper fall from his fingers as his voice went silent. Several Gryffindors had stopped eating and chatting to listen as Harry read from the paper, and now they were all glancing around at each other in shock, not knowing quite what to make of the article. Harry knew what they were thinking--how could the Ministry let them down like this, fail to protect them and its Aurors from the likes of three crazed Death Eaters and a load of dementors? Harry's mind was elsewhere, however. His eyes stared straight ahead of him, past the sea of faces at the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff tables, to lock onto the pale, pointed face of Draco Malfoy. 

Malfoy was reading the Prophet intently, biting his lip in concentration. When he finally set down his paper, a smile of triumph lit his face. He looked calm and cool and wholly unlike someone whose father had just murdered two Aurors and escaped from prison. In fact, he looked delighted and annoyingly as if he'd just proven an exceptionally difficult point. His silver eyes locked with Harry's when he noticed Harry's stare. He simply raised his pale eyebrows questioningly as if to say, "What? I told you it would happen." 

Harry looked away from Malfoy and stared instead at the faces of his friends around him. They were all shocked and horrified. Ron muttered under his breath something about "Malfoy" and "slimy git," while Hermione simply looked dazed. Ginny's mouth was set in a thin line, her cheeks pale. She looked ready to battle--fierce and determined. Neville clutched at the Prophet, reading the article over again, his face chalky white, his eyes glinting with anger. One of the Death Eaters who had attacked his parents had escaped. Neville was probably plotting his revenge, Harry thought. 

"We knew her," Hermione said in a slow voice devoid of emotion. "Emmeline Vance. She was... Harry, you remember her?" 

Harry nodded and clutched his fingers tight together. He did not want to remember her. She had been among the witches and wizards who had volunteered to collect him from the Dursleys' the year before. He remembered her calm, cool air of efficiency, the way she had nodded reassuringly at him from her broom as they flew high over the English countryside. "It could have been any of them," he said finally. "Tonks or Kingsley or any of them. Without the dementors guarding Azkaban, the aurors have to pick up the slack. There aren't enough of them to go round. That's what Tonks told me, anyhow." Harry looked around at his friend's faces, each one displaying varying degrees of shock and outrage. He knew from looking at them, from seeing the way the news had immobilized them, that he would have to be the one to take charge. It was always him, he thought tiredly as he stood from the table. There was no escaping destiny, he supposed. 

"Come on, then," Harry said. "We've got Transfiguration in ten minutes. McGonagall's doing animation today." 

Ron stood, but didn't follow. "Harry, how can you just go off to class as if nothing's--" 

"Shut up, Ron," Hermione interrupted. Harry looked at her gratefully. "Just because this has happened, and Malfoy's escaped, doesn't mean the world has suddenly stopped and there aren't any classes to go to. If we aren't able to live our normal lives, or at least semi-normal lives, then we aren't really living at all, and He's won. We can't fall apart every time something terrible happens, or we'll never be able to put ourselves back together. What happened was horrible, yes, but we've still got to carry on." 

Ron stared at Hermione, dumbfounded. Harry watched him impatiently, waiting for him to realize that Hermione was right. They couldn't go about depressed and upset all the time, not when Voldemort was out there needing to be defeated. Suddenly Ron's gaping mouth snapped shut and he grinned. "You just want to learn that Animating spell." 

"We'd better get going," Ginny said ruefully, standing up from the Gryffindor table. Dinner had only just started, but they were due in the dungeons in fifteen minutes for their detention. Harry sighed and stared morosely into his pudding, wishing for once he could just skive off and damn the consequences. There were so many more important things he could be doing with the next four hours, like researching Slayers, or devising strategies for the upcoming match against Slytherin. Even studying would be preferable to spending several hours in a dank dungeon with his least favorite professor. 

"Budge up, Harry," Ron said, grabbing him by the elbow. "It could be worse. We could be serving detention with Malfoy." 

"Don't jinx it, Ron!" Ginny admonished. 

Harry stood up and allowed Ron to lead him, following Ginny and Hermione out of the Great Hall. Anger, an emotion that always seemed close to the surface for him these days, was bubbling heatedly inside him, ready to explode. Why _did_ they have to serve detention, when more important things such as, oh, _saving the world from unspeakable evil_ needed doing? Harry grew more and more frustrated the closer they got to Snape's dungeon. It simply didn't seem right that he had to be doing something so pointlessly mundane as scrubbing out cauldrons for Snape's amusement when he had a destiny to fulfill. Why did he have to go about pretending everything was normal, that he was normal, serving detentions and attending lessons and playing Quidditch, as if he had any real future to look forward to? 

By the time they reached Snape's dungeon, Harry had worked himself into a blinding fury. He pulled away from Ron and took two long strides past the girls to slam open the heavy wood door of the dungeon. The door crashed open, slamming against the stone wall of the room with the sound of splintering wood and scraping metal. Harry stood in the doorway seething, not caring if Snape gave him a hundred more detentions for his show of rage. He was beyond caring. After the Prophet article this morning, Harry just wanted to _do_ something. 

"I'm sure whatever the door did to piss you off, it's sorry," an amused voice said from Snape's desk at the front of the room. 

Harry's startled gaze flew to the speaker, and all the anger seemed to drain out of him suddenly, leaving him feeling a little weak and breathless. Buffy grinned at him from on top of the desk, where she perched nonchalantly, drumming her booted heels against the front of it. 

"Er, sorry about that," Harry mumbled. 

"Buffy!" Ginny exclaimed from behind him. She pushed her way past Harry, giving him a frustrated glance. "Oh please!" she said, upon seeing the door. "What did it ever do to you?" 

Buffy just smiled and gestured that they should all take seats. "We're still waiting for one more," she told them. "I told Professor Uber Grease, um, I mean Snape, that since I already had to oversee a detention, you guys could hang with me. He didn't seem too happy about giving up detention duty. He's a little weird, isn't he? Gives me the wiggins." 

"The what-ins?" Ron asked. 

"I might have known," a cold voice interrupted from the doorway. Harry turned to see Draco Malfoy leaning nonchalantly in the now slightly off-kilter jamb. It always surprised him how arrogant and self-possessed Malfoy managed to look, no matter what the situation. His silvery hair was always perfectly in place, his eyes cool and detached, as if he couldn't really concern himself with what went on outside his immediate vicinity. For a moment, Harry felt a brief stab of envy for that kind of indifference--not to care what happened in the world, to be able to think only of himself, only of the present. It was a luxury Harry had never enjoyed. 

Malfoy stalked into the room, surveying the group of them with a disgusted glance. "As if having to do something as plebeian as serve detention weren't bad enough, I'm stuck with a bunch of sniveling Gryffindors," he complained, making the word "Gryffindor" sound like the worst insult imaginable. 

Buffy cleared her throat. "Excuse me, Mister It-Is-Beneath-My-Dignity-to-Engage-in- Activities-Which-Make-Me-Sweat! You're here for detention, not to trade insults." 

"I'm just going by Draco now, thanks," Malfoy said. 

Ginny giggled at Buffy's words. Harry found it hard to keep his own laughter inside as well. Had Malfoy actually been given detention for refusing to fight during Defense class? Somehow the idea didn't exactly surprise him--engaging in physical battle would be something Malfoy would see as terribly Muggle and thus, to be reviled. Harry imagined Malfoy was probably fairly awful to Buffy during class as well. If the way he treated Hagrid was any way to judge, Malfoy held no respect for people who weren't fully qualified witches or wizards, even if they were powerful in other ways. 

"So, I thought we'd use this time to whittle some stakes and bottle holy water and stuff," Buffy said brightly, glancing around at their despondent faces. "Oh, c'mon! It'll be fun. We used to hang out in the library at school all the time, researching the monster of the week, carving stakes and gorging on pizza. It's like a party! With weapons. It's a weapons party!" 

"Some social life you've led," Draco said with obvious disdain, studying his fingernails in a carefully indifferent pose. "The blokes must have been lining up to get in on that kind of fun." 

Buffy frowned and slammed a piece of wood down on the desk in front of him. "Malfoy, your mouth is open, and sound is coming from it. This is never good. Now shut up, and start whittling." 

Harry began whittling at his own lump of wood, feeling immensely satisfied that Buffy had so effectively shut Malfoy up. The blond boy seated next to him was seething in anger, wielding his knife with reckless abandon--his cold indifference was long gone. Red splotches marred his pale skin, making him look feverish. The glazed look in his silvery eyes only added to the effect. Harry found himself smirking just a little. It wasn't everyday he saw Malfoy this shaken and angry. 

After a few minutes of silent whittling, Harry glanced at Malfoy out of the corner of his eye. The Slytherin had regained his composure and was leaning back nonchalantly in his chair, carving his piece of wood leisurely. He looked deceptively casual and decidedly up to something. Harry frowned and turned his eyes back to his own stake. What was Malfoy planning? 

"God, could this _be_ anymore boring?" Buffy complained suddenly. "How long do these things usually last, anyway?" 

Malfoy raised one perfectly shaped blond eyebrow at their professor's outburst. Harry wondered briefly if the other boy actually plucked his own eyebrows, or had a house-elf do it for him. "We could pass the time with a story, perhaps?" His voice was smooth and silky, a tone he usually reserved for pureblood girls and professors he was trying to coax into getting him out of punishment. Now Harry _knew_ he was up to no good. "I hear you've got a few interesting tales." 

Buffy looked at the blond boy, surprised. Ron, Ginny, and Hermione also wore looks of shock on their faces--Harry didn't think any of them had actually ever seen Malfoy turn on the charm. He hadn't known Malfoy could wipe the sneer of his face long enough to seem sincerely interested in something. Harry exchanged a look with Ginny, who was seated next to him. "What's he playing at?" she mouthed at him. Harry shrugged. 

"Who told you that?" Buffy asked, retrieving a dagger from the holster at her ankle. For a brief but joyous moment Harry imagined her threatening Malfoy with the wickedly curved blade, but instead she began sharpening its edges with a bit of stone from her pocket. 

"_They_," Malfoy evaded with a flirtatious flutter of his eyelashes. Harry cringed and felt a little sick. It went against everything he knew for Draco Malfoy to be _flirting_ with a Professor who also happened to be the one thing he hated more than Muggle-borns--Muggles themselves. 

"_They_ talk a lot, don't they?" Buffy smiled. Two seats down from him, Ron was clutching his block of wood so tightly Harry feared for its continuing wholeness. Hermione just looked dazed, as if she couldn't quite comprehend this turn of events. Harry's only thought was that Malfoy seemed to be doing some of the work of finding out about Buffy for him. Abandoning all pretense of trying to appear as if he didn't care, Harry set down his tools and stared intently from Buffy to Malfoy. 

"And what do they say?" Buffy asked. 

"They say you killed a Master vampire. Stopped the world from being swallowed into hell by a millennia old demon. Destroyed a demon no weapon forged could kill." 

"The no weapon forged thing was just a misnomer. That was before the invention of missile launchers," Buffy said, deadpan. 

"They say you died," Malfoy said, his voice cool and shrewd. 

"Twice, actually. But who's counting?" Buffy replied. 

"You _died?!"_ Hermione gasped. "But then, how are you...? And wouldn't there be...?" 

"Another Slayer?" Buffy asked. "Yeah. But she pretty much went AWOL a few years back. For a while it was kinda nice, having another Slayer around to fight off the baddies. I mean, I was still in total Destiny Girl mode, but at least I had a little help at the office." 

"Tell us about the 'no weapon forged can kill him' guy," Ginny said, smiling at Buffy shyly. "And what's a muscle luncher?" Harry started at the worshipful expression on Ginny's face as she gazed up at Buffy, who was contemplating the keenness of her knife's edge. He hadn't seen that expression on her face in a long time--the one that said she'd do anything, give anything, _be_ anything for the person at whom she was directing her stare. When Harry had last seen it, he reminded himself, it had been plastered on Ginny's face whenever she'd looked at _him._ It felt strange, seeing her hero-worship aimed someone else. He felt as if something was tugging at his brain, prickling inside his head uncomfortably as he looked from Ginny to Buffy. 

Harry's thoughts were interrupted by Hermione's giggle. "A _missile launcher,_ Ginny," she explained, trying to repress her mirth, "not a muscle luncher!" 

Ginny looked slightly affronted at having gotten the term wrong. "Well _excuse me,_ Miss I-Know-Everything-I'm-So-Great!" 

"Tell us about the Judge," Malfoy interrupted their squabble with a roll of his silvery eyes. 

"Well, well, well," Buffy remarked, surprise in her wide blue eyes, "_they_ have been talking a lot, haven't they? Yes, the Judge. That's what the demon guy was called. Supposedly because he separated the clean from the, well, not clean. He looked more like a giant smurf to me. Smurfy, but evil." 

"What do you mean, the clean from the unclean?" Draco asked, appearing for all the world as if they were in a Defense class studying up on Grindylows. Harry knew better. Malfoy had never expressed that much interested in a class before, unless you counted Potions, and only then because he seemed to have a constant desire to best Harry in front of Snape. Probably because Snape delighted in belittling him, Harry thought a little bitterly. 

"Well, I'm not too up on my demonology, but Super Smurf Guy could basically fry anyone with even a shred of humanity in them. He literally burned the humanity out of people." 

"That's just..." Ginny trailed off, at a loss for words. 

"Fascinating," Malfoy finished for her. 

"Okay, I _know_ you meant to say disturbing and gross," Buffy said. 

Malfoy stared up at her through his eyelashes and gave her a half smile. "This is just so interesting," he demurred. "We never learn anything like this in Defense. They treat us like we're too young to understand that there is real evil in the world." 

Ron snorted with incredulous laughter. "Right, Malfoy. Because you wouldn't know anything about evil, being that you _are."_

Malfoy snarled and stood up, nearly overturning his desk. "Weasley, I swear, another word--" 

"Just stop it!" Harry yelled, standing to face Malfoy. They were close, less than a foot away, and Harry could see his own anger reflected in the darkened circles of Malfoy's eyes. "How can you act like this, so cool and unconcerned, after what's happened?" 

Malfoy began to reply, but Buffy cut him off. "Hey! What's going on here? Did I miss something? Because this is making the kind of sense that, well, doesn't. Why don't we just sit back down and try _not_ killing each other?" she asked. 

"No!" Harry yelled. "I will not just sit here in this room, listening to stories with this, this miserable _excuse_ for a human being, and just pretend as if nothing's happened! I--_we_--lost someone today, and it's all because of him!" 

Buffy stared from Harry to Malfoy, at a loss for how to handle the situation. Hermione, Ron, and Ginny sat at their desks, mouths agape, shocked into silence and inaction. Harry glared at Malfoy, daring him to say something even remotely insulting, anything at all, so that he could let loose the anger he felt with a good punch into that too-pretty face. He wanted to hurt Malfoy, pay him back for all the hurts he and his friends had suffered at Malfoy's hand, and his father's. Pay him back for Sirius... 

"Despite what you are implying," Malfoy drawled, his voice dripping with venom, "my father and I are separate entities. I may look like him, but that doesn't mean I _am_ him." 

Harry faltered, momentarily stumped by Malfoy's words. Of course he understood that Malfoy had not committed the acts of his father, but he knew with every ounce of his being that Malfoy reveled in the pain and deaths his father had caused, and fully planned to follow in his footsteps. Harry's rage threatened to overwhelm him. His eyes burned and he realized that if he didn't get out of the dungeon quickly, something terrible would happen. He might make Malfoy inflate like he had Aunt Marge, or something equally dreadful. Harry was his control, and if he didn't regain it quickly, he'd hurt not only Malfoy, but his friends as well. 

Harry took a step backwards, then another, never breaking eye contact with Malfoy. "That's right, Potter," Malfoy sneered. "Run away. I thought Gryffindors were meant to be brave." 

On the shelf above Snape's desk a bottle exploded, sending shards of glass crashing onto the floor along with its contents: sludgy green liquid and bits of rat brains. Ginny shrieked and dived under her desk, while Hermione scrambled out of her chair and backed up against the far wall, staring at him in shock. Ron leapt up to stand in front of Hermione as a second jar exploded, shielding her from the worst of the explosions of liquid and glass. Malfoy yelped in surprise and threw his arms up to protect himself, breaking his eye contact with Harry. As if awakening from a trance, Harry blinked and gazed around him. Another jar exploded, sending more animal parts flying in a rush of liquid. Stumbling, Harry turned away from his friends and crashed out of the room to the sound of yet another jar exploding in his wake. 

The world seemed to rush around Harry in a haze of dark shapes as he stumbled down the dim corridor, gasping and shaking. His rage filled him, shutting out everything else, until he couldn't feel anything else, think of anything but it. He wanted to hurt something, to _destroy_ something. The memories of everything Lucius Malfoy had ever done to hurt him and his friends flickered through his brain as he burst into a deserted classroom, sliding down the wall to sit hunched against the cold stones. In his mind's eye, Harry saw Lucius with Tom Riddle's diary, unrepentant at the damage he'd caused to an innocent child. He saw Malfoy fighting with Arthur Weasley, humiliating him in front of his own children. He remembered Lucius standing in a circle of Death Eaters, masked and laughing with the rest as Voldemort prepared to duel with Harry, laughing as Voldemort mocked him-- _bow to death, Harry._ And he saw Lucius Malfoy at the Department of Mysteries... _It's time you learned the difference between life and dreams, Potter._

Something else was creeping into the back of his mind now, a tug of sadness at the remembered words. Sadness and... something like guilt. Yes, if only he _had_ learned the difference between life and dreams, then Sirius might still be alive. Harry's vision began to clear as his rage subsided into misery, but he clenched his eyes shut against his present reality. He leaned his head back against the damp stone of the dungeon wall, allowing the coolness to soothe his racing mind. With a sigh Harry recalled the moments in the dungeon with his friends and Malfoy... the looks on their faces. Ginny screaming, hiding from him. Hermione still with shock and horror, and Ron, uncomprehending. Buffy had taken it all in stride, as if she were used to seeing things explode around her. And Malfoy... his face, usually so unreadable, had registered a strange mixture of fear, awe, and satisfaction. 

Harry let his head fall into his hands with a groan. What could he say to his friends, what could he say to his _professor,_ to explain what had just happened? They wouldn't understand, he thought to himself bitterly. They could never understand the anger he felt, the need to destroy, to inflict pain. The need sometimes consumed him so wholly that it ceased to matter who bore the brunt of his feelings. Hermione, Ron, Ginny... they didn't understand what it meant to be Harry, to have the weight of the world resting on his shoulders, and know deep inside that he wasn't up to the challenge. 

"Harry, are you, um, okay?" Harry raised his head and saw with dull eyes that Buffy stood in the doorway, glancing around a little nervously. "Are you, uh, done breaking stuff? 'Cause I'm really not relishing trying to get more from brains out of my hair." 

Harry shook his head as Buffy sat down next to him against the wall, nudging him a bit with her shoulder. When she sat next to him, he realized with a jolt how incredibly tiny she was, really much smaller than most of the girls he knew. To think that Buffy had defeated countless demons and averted multiple apocolypses... 

"You seem pretty brain-free to me," Harry mumbled, staring at his hands, clasped tightly between his drawn up knees. 

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," Buffy said. 

"No, I only meant, there aren't any brains in your hair," Harry stammered. He felt awful about what had happened, that she's witnessed his show of uncontrolled emotion--it was inexcusable. He wondered with a brief pang if she had come to warn him that she'd be going to McGonagall. Would he be expelled for something like this? Harry couldn't imagine Dumbledore expelling him for any reason, but considering... 

"It was a joke, Harry. No, Ginny took care of the sludgeyness with a Scrooging Charm. Or was it a Scouring Charm? Whatever. The important thing here isn't my hair, although I now have an extremely strong urge to lather and rinse repeatedly until I no longer picture green brain bits in it. The important thing is you. Are you okay?" 

Harry shook his head. It was pointless to lie, really, when it was obvious that he wasn't okay. "I, I don't know how I am. Malfoy... it wasn't even really about him, though he does have a habit of making me really angry. It's just, those Aurors who died at the Azkaban breakout... I knew one of them. And, and it's my job, to protect them. I'm supposed to be some kind of hero or something, saving the wizarding world from Voldemort. There's this prophecy, that I'm the only one who can do it. Only I can't, and I didn't, and it's my fault those people are dead." 

Harry knew he wasn't making any sense, that he was babbling and Buffy had no way of understanding his train of thought, but he felt a little something like relief as the words spilled from his mouth, as if they'd been waiting a long time to get out. 

Buffy patted his arm. She rolled her head against the wall so that she could look at him, and gave him a small smile. "I know a little something about prophecy, and destiny. When I was fifteen, and we're talking a really ditsy, only thinks about boys and clothes and dances fifteen, this wacked-out British guy just walked up to me one day after school and told me I had a destiny. That I was the Chosen One. I tried to deny it for a while, but it doesn't work like that, Harry. That's why they call it destiny--it catches up to you no matter how hard you try to avoid it." 

Harry closed his eyes and swallowed hard. What Buffy said made sense. He couldn't avoid his destiny or keep pretending that it didn't exist. The battle was going to come--he'd have to face Voldemort at some point. 

"But what if... what if I can't face it?" Harry asked hoarsely, not opening his eyes. He didn't think he could stand to see her face filled with sympathy and compassion. He couldn't bear it if she were nice and understanding, because she _did_ understand--she had been there, was there, had to deal with her destiny everyday. "What if I'm not strong enough, if I can't defeat him, when the time comes?" 

Buffy was silent for a minute. Harry finally opened his eyes and stared at her, willing her to give him the answers. 

"Sometimes... sometimes it's not about what you're capable of giving, it's about what you're capable of giving _up."_ Her voice was laced with sadness and a kind of bone deep tiredness that sent chills through him. "Someone once told me that, in the end you're always by yourself. You're all you've got. You have friends who are willing to die for you, Harry. Even I can see that, after only a few weeks here. And shutting them out of your life won't do you a damn bit of good, believe me. But you have to remember that in the end, you have to be willing to make sacrifices, and to keep going, because _you're_ the one who has to go on. You're the one who has to end things." 

Harry sighed and got to his feet, giving Buffy a hand up. "Thanks," he said. "I feel... better." 

"Behold my success." Buffy smiled. She brushed off her pants and turned to leave. "Ugh, and behold the sliminess of my hands!" 

Harry smiled to himself as he made his way out of the dungeons Buffy was right. He may have a destiny, and when it came down to it, he'd have to face it eventually, but he didn't have to go through it alone. 

The morning of the first Quidditch match of the season dawned cold and blustery, the sky an expanse of slate grey over the pitch. Harry stuck his head out of the changing room door to check the weather conditions they would be facing in only a few minutes time: windy and cold, with a definite chance of rain, judging by the heavy clouds above. With a sigh he turned back to his team. They were gazing at him expectantly, and he knew they were waiting for some kind of big pep speech, like the kind Oliver Wood had always given before matches. The truth was, Harry wasn't terribly optimistic about their chances. Ron was still a bit squeamish as Keeper, and Seamus had only just the day before hit Ginny instead of the Bludger Harry was grateful that Ginny healed fast; only a faint yellow-blue bruise marred her cheek where the bat had grazed her. 

Harry looked at each of them in turn. Katie was her usual calm, collected self, confident in her Chasing abilities. Ginny looked confident as well, and no wonder. Lately she'd been flying phenomenally well. She'd been good before, but after weeks of hard practice, her skills easily surpassed Katie's and only seemed to get better. Emma looked nervous but excited, while Seamus was clutching his stomach as if he were about to be sick. Ron looked equally green, and Harry prayed that he wouldn't flake out as he had last year. Colin grinned daftly up at him from his place on the bench. Harry wondered with a frown if the boy had taken a Soothing Serum to quell his nerves. 

"A great man once told me, 'Get the Snitch, or die trying,'" Harry said, pacing in front of them. 

"Don't you mean a _mad _ man once told you?" Ron quipped. 

"That too," Harry said. "But the point is well taken, regardless of the questionable state of Oliver Wood's sanity. This is _ Slytherin. _ We must beat them. And not just because it's Quidditch, and we've got a championship to defend, or any of those other things that, in the long run, don't really matter." 

"Quidditch _ so _ matters!" Ginny argued. 

Harry ignored her. "This isn't about petty house rivalries," he repeated, "it's about proving to those Slytherins out there, to the entire school really, that the things in life that _do_ matter..." Harry paused to take a calming breath. "It isn't money or looks or power. It's about strength, bravery, friendship, and loyalty. It's about choosing to do the right thing." He smiled at their stunned expressions. Clearly none of them had been expecting a speech about the meaning of being a Gryffindor. "And in this case, the right thing is beating Slytherin so badly we knock that smug, arrogant look off Draco Malfoy's pointy face once and for all!" 

"I don't know about all that bravery stuff, but I'm all in when it concerns the total humiliation of one Draco Malfoy," Ron said with a grin. 

Harry nodded. "Right then. We'd better get out there." 

The Gryffindor team walked onto the pitch to wild cheers from three quarters of the school. Harry could hear Dean Thomas's voice faintly over the noise of the crowd and the roaring of the wind in his ears. "The Gryffindors have a new captain this year, and I'm sure we're all eager to see what he's done with an almost completely new team." 

"Slytherin's got a new captain as well," Cho Chang's voice sounded out over the pitch. Harry was startled to hear his old crush commentating on the game. When he thought about it, though, it made sense. All he and Cho had ever been able to properly talk about was Quidditch. "Draco Malfoy's been training his team exhaustively. Everyone's anxious to see the results of so many late night practices." 

Their voices faded as Harry watched the Slytherin team emerge from the other side of the pitch. For once Malfoy's appearance, usually so impeccably polished, was less than perfect. The wind whipped fiercely, mussing the Slytherin's hair, and dark circles marred the pale skin beneath his eyes, as if he hadn't slept well in weeks. Harry smiled grimly. He hoped that whatever was keeping Malfoy up nights was torturing him in an extremely painful fashion. 

Madam Hooch stepped between the teams, holding her broom in one hand and her silver whistle in the other. "Captains, shake hands." 

Harry stepped forward to meet Malfoy halfway. He held out his hand, and Malfoy gripped it hard, as if trying to crush it by sheer force. Harry could feel the bones of his hand grinding beneath the pressure, but he refused to wince or back away. "My father sends his condolences, Potter," Malfoy said in a low voice, so that Hooch couldn't hear him, "on the _tragic_ death of your godfather. He was such a useful toy." 

Harry glared and gripped Malfoy's hand harder. "You're the toy, Malfoy," he growled. "Just a puppet with no spine of your own." 

"That's enough!" Hooch barked. Harry let go of Malfoy and backed away to stand with his team, anger rushing in his ears. His eyes locked on Malfoy's steely grey ones, refusing to be the one to look away first. He knew Malfoy was trying to make him angry, bringing up Sirius like that. Angry enough to lose his control and give Slytherin the game, perhaps. Harry wouldn't play that game. He mounted his broom at Hooch's signal and rose high into the air above the pitch. Malfoy beat him at a lot of things--at marks, in lessons, even occasionally in duels--but Quidditch was the one thing he never beat Harry at, and Harry intended to keep it that way. 

Surveying the pitch below him, Harry kept a watchful eye out for any twinkling gold or flutter of silver wings. Above the howling wind he could hear Dean and Cho's commentary. "Well Cho, it looks like Potter's really got his offensive team together. Just look at those Chaser's go! I don't think I've ever seen moves like this before!" 

"That's the Hawkshead Attacking Formation, Dean," Cho's voice was full of excitement. "It's usually followed with, yes, there goes Ginny Weasley with the Porskoff Ploy! Perfectly executed." 

"Gooooooal!" Dean yelled. "Ginny Weasley makes the first score of the game, and it's ten to zero in favor of Gryffindor!" 

"Weasley's really improved since last year," Cho commented, "and the Gryffindor's new Chaser, Emma Dobbs, seems to be working out well." 

"And the Quaffle's in Slytherin hands now, let's see what they make of it. Slytherin has two new Chasers, Nott and Zabini. Zabini passes to Pucey, Pucey's flying well today, reverse pass to Nott, Nott makes the throw..." 

"Keeper Weasley saves it!" Cho exclaimed. "Gryffindor has control again..." 

Harry blocked out the voices of the commentators as he scanned the pitch for a glimpse of the Snitch. Malfoy floated at the opposite end, occasionally making a loop and looking bored. Harry grinned, thinking back on the Quidditch World Cup he'd been to his fourth year. Viktor Krum hadn't sat around on his broom, letting the game go by as he searched in vain for the elusive Snitch. Maybe Harry should take a leaf from Krum's book, give Malfoy a little something to think about... 

Decision made, Harry dove suddenly, adopting a look of intense concentration. He rushed toward the ground from a hundred feet up in an almost vertical dive, loving the freedom he always felt when he was on a broom, as if nothing else mattered but this. He saw Malfoy coming at him out of the corner of his eye, trying to match Harry's dive. His face was contorted in a look of part fear, part determination as he sped toward the ground at Harry's side. 

"It's early in the game yet, but Potter's seen the Snitch! Look at that dive! He's heading straight for the ground. And Malfoy's seen him! He's following, they're neck and neck..." 

"They're going to crash!" Cho yelled. 

Harry grinned. Malfoy was going to crash, but _he_ certainly didn't intend to. At the last second, only a foot from the ground, Harry rolled out of the dive and pulled up on his Firebolt, using all his strength and finesse to maintain control of his broom. With a look of sudden realization and shock, Malfoy tried to roll out of the dive at the last second, but it was too late--he crashed head first into the pitch with a sickening crunch that made even Harry cringe, despite knowing what would happen. 

"Harry's playing this match fast and dangerous!" Cho said. "A perfect Wronski Feint at the expense of the Slytherin Captain." 

"Malfoy's on his feet. He looks more angry than injured, Cho, but that was some crash! He won't be tracking Potter again anytime soon, after those sorts of tactics by the Gryffindor Captain." 

Harry grinned and lapped the pitch slowly. Malfoy was on his feet, his nose bleeding profusely, but other than that he seemed fine. Harry searched frantically for the Snitch--the Feint had bought him a few precious moments of time to find it without Malfoy getting in his way. 

"And Malfoy's back in the air, without even calling a time out!" Cho said, clearly impressed. 

"Meanwhile the Quaffle is in Gryffindor control. Ginny Weasley with the Quaffle, drops to Bell, back to Weasley--oh! I don't think any of us saw that coming!" 

Startled from his search for the Snitch, Harry focused on the game below him. At the Slytherin end of the pitch Ginny clutched at her leg which, Harry could see, was bleeding profusely through her robes. Panicked, Harry signaled to Hooch for a time out and flew to Ginny, his hands slipping with sweat on his broom. His heart raced in fear as he came closer to Ginny. She pulled up her robe to examine her knee, and Harry saw with a shock of horror that it looked absolutely _smashed._ The cap was out of place and the bottom half of her leg dangled uselessly from her destroyed joint. 

"Ginny!" Harry gasped, amazed that she was still in the air. Her eyes were glazed with pain, but she wasn't crying, just biting her lip hard and shaking a little. "What happened?" 

"Bludger. Knee," was all she could get out. 

"We'll forfeit. Or, or we can try to play without you. You're not playing like that," Harry said dismally. His own words rang in his ears like a death sentence. 

Ron flew out to meet them, his face whitening at the sight of sister's knee. "Ginny, get to the ground. You're done." 

Taking a deep breath, Ginny wrenched her robe down and gripped her broom hard. "No," she said, her voice steely. "I'm not forfeiting just because Crabbe happened to get _lucky_ and actually _hit_ something for once. And don't try to tell me otherwise!" she yelled, before they could reply. "I'm going to play, and we're going to win, and there's nothing you can say to change my mind! You see this resolved face? You've seen it before--you know what it means. Now get back to your positions! Time out's nearly over!" 

Ginny flew away, miraculously staying on her broom, despite her leg looking as if it was about to fall off. "She's completely mad!" Ron said. He took off, flying to his goal posts. 

Harry watched Ginny carefully, hating himself for letting her continue in the game. To Harry's amazement, she flew recklessly, performing her moves as flawlessly as if she'd never been hit at all. After a few minutes, Harry couldn't stand to watch her anymore, her leg dangling sickeningly from her smashed knee as if it belonged to a rag doll instead of his very solid friend. He'd simply have to catch the Snitch as quickly as possible. 

"And Ginny Weasley is back in the game after a Bludger to the knee, flying as brilliantly as ever!" Cho said, clearly amazed. 

"Her knee is completely obliterated! I can't imagine how she's doing it." 

"Pucey has the Quaffle, he's going for the shot, he takes it, he scores! Ten points for Slytherin, but Gryffindor holds onto the lead, forty to ten." 

Harry searched frantically for the Snitch, blocking out the sounds of the commentators and the rest of the school cheering and groaning as the game went on. It seemed to last forever, with the wind batting at him harshly. It began to rain after about an hour, a hard driving rain that chilled him to the core. He scanned the pitch for Ginny, only just picking her out of the blurred figures below him by her fiery red hair. She wasn't flying as well now; she was slower, her moves sluggish, and as he watched, she barely dodged a Bludger to the head with a quick roll that forced her to drop the Quaffle into Zabini's waiting hands. 

"That's it," Harry muttered to himself. "I'm ending this _now._" Gryffindor was up by two goals. Even with her injury, Ginny had still managed to be one of the most useful players on the field. If he caught the Snitch now, they'd win. With renewed determination born out of worry for his teammate, he searched for that hint of gold or flutter of silver that would give away the Snitch's hiding place. Suddenly, with a feeling of immense relief, he saw it, fluttering near the edge of the pitch. He dived for it, not caring that he was headed directly for the stands. He only hoped the Ravenclaws sitting there would have the sense to get out of the way when they saw him coming. 

"Potter's diving!" he heard Cho's voice as if from a great distance. "Is this another feint, or has he really seen the Snitch?" 

"Malfoy obviously thinks he's faking," Dean replied. "He's not even bothering to follow." 

Harry's concentration narrowed until all he could see was the fluttering gold ball that was the Snitch hovering tantalizingly only a foot from front row of the stands. _I'm going to crash,_ he thought dazedly, but at that point nothing mattered except capturing the Snitch and ending the game. Even if he had to sacrifice himself to do it... 

Harry reached out and with a triumphantly yell, he felt his fingers clench around the ball with relief. Blinding white light flashed in his head with a sudden explosion of pain as he crashed into the stands full of screaming Ravenclaws. _Guess they're not so clever after all,_ he thought inanely as everything went black. 

Harry was strolling leisurely through a park, verdant and almost aggressive in its greenness. The sun hung heavy and hot in the sky, a sky so violently blue that Harry couldn't bare to look at it for more than a few seconds. Gray stones dotted the rolling landscape around him--headstones. _A graveyard, then,_ he thought to himself as he stopped to examine one of the markers. 

_James Potter  
1961-1981  
Beloved Friend and Father_

"You have to know what to see," a voice said from behind him. Harry turned slowly, as if in a trance. He couldn't make sense of what was happening. His limbs moved sluggishly, as if underwater. 

Sirius stood before him looking the way Harry had only ever seen him in Snape's Pensieve: young and handsome in a carelessly elegant way that said he knew he was good-looking but simply couldn't be bothered about it. His eyes were somber and dark, though, lacking the sparkling, mischievous quality Harry remembered. He took a few steps forward to stand by Harry at the grave. 

"I don't understand," Harry said dully. "I don't..." 

The graveyard seemed to flicker like a television with shoddy reception, and when it snapped back into focus a crowd of people stood gathered at the grave. Sirius still stood beside him, but across from them an older version of him stood beside Remus and Peter Pettigrew. Even the Weasleys were there. Everyone Harry knew and loved stood there, mourning, their faces drawn and still. Harry's eyes moved slowly back to the headstone, which now read: 

_Harry James Potter  
1980-1997  
Beloved Friend and Son_

"You have to know what to see," the older, wasted version of Sirius told him sadly. His dark eyes slipped from Harry's to focus on a slight, veiled girl at the front of the crowd. She slowly lifted the gauzy slip of black material covering her face, letting it fall back to cover her bright hair--Ginny. Her eyes were sad but bone dry as she dropped a white rose onto the grave. 

The graveyard flickered once more and dissolved into blackness. Harry found himself in a club, or at some sort of party, he couldn't tell. People danced around him and the younger version of Sirius to a slow, heavy beat. Their bodies moved languorously in the dim lighting, pressing close to each other until Harry couldn't tell where one dancer began and the next ended. 

The lyrics of the song seemed to sing directly into his mind, so that he could hear nothing but those words. _Last time I saw you, we'd just split in two. You was looking at me, I was looking at you. You had a way so familiar, I could not recognize, cause you had blood on your face, I had blood in my eyes, but I could swear by your expression that the pain down in your soul was the same as the one down in mine..._

"Love is blood," Sirius said, his eyes distant and cold. He stood straight and tense, his hands clenched in tight fists at his side. "Blood screaming inside you to work its will." 

"Sirius, please don't leave me!" Harry cried out, taking a step towards the other boy. "Please," he whispered, his voice hoarse, "not again..." 

But Sirius backed away from him slowly as the dancers parted to make a path for him, shaking his head sadly. "You have to know what to see," he repeated. "Open your eyes, Harry." 

"Harry!" A loud voice yelled directly in his ear. "Open your eyes, damn it!" 

Harry groaned. "Please," he whispered, "stop yelling." 

"I'm sorry Harry," a voice he now recognized as Hermione's said in a gentler tone, "I was just so worried. How do you feel? Can you move? Because your eyes are still closed, and the only part of you that's moved in the past sixteen hours has been just now, when you said to stop yelling, and even then it wasn't very much moving, and what if--" 

"Shut up, woman!" Harry heard Ron admonish her from somewhere off to his right. "You'll send him back into a coma with all your carrying on." 

Harry forced his eyes open and blinked dazedly at the bright light of the room. He was in the hospital wing; he'd been in it enough times by now that he recognized it by the narrowness of the bed and the lumpiness of the pillow cradling his head. The ceiling above was a hazy mass of white and grey. For a moment Harry wondered if his vision had been damaged in some way, before he remembered his glasses. Rather than bothering with them, he let his eyes fall shut once more. He felt exhausted, as if he'd just run a race instead of, apparently, sleeping for sixteen hours. Every muscle ached and burned, and his head felt huge and groggy, as if it had been inflated and filled with water. 

"My head feels big. Is it...?" 

"No, it's head-sized," Ginny's voice assured him from the foot of his cot. 

"What happened?" he asked. He remembered only a blinding flash of white, and then a strange dream... something about a graveyard, and had Sirius been there? But not Sirius as he had known him. A young Sirius, and--had they been at some kind of rave? That couldn't be right. He wished he could remember, but his head hurt too badly to even try. 

"You crashed into the Ravenclaw stands. And into some Ravenclaws as well. Banged your head up pretty hard in the process, hence the coma," Ginny told him. "You gave Lisa Turpin the fright of her life, flying at her like a madman!" she added with amusement. 

"Do I know Lisa Turpin?" Harry asked groggily. 

"Shh," Hermione said. "Just lie still and try to rest. I'll tell Madam Pomfrey you're awake." 

Harry heard the rustle of a curtain being pushed aside and Hermione's footsteps against the tile floor moving away from them. "That catch was absolutely brilliant, Harry!" Ron said after Hermione was out of range. "Malfoy didn't even go for it--he thought you were doing another feint. The look on his face when they pried the Snitch out of your fingers! Priceless." 

Harry attempted a weak smile. "Wish I could've seen it..." 

With a sudden jolt he remembered why he'd been so determined to catch the Snitch in the first place, even though it had been in such a precarious position. "Ginny, your knee...?" 

"Is fine," she assured him. "Madam Pomfrey fixed me up straight away. I heal fast, remember? I'm right as rain." She paused thoughtfully. "What does that mean, anyway? Right as rain? Is rain somehow inherently correct in all its, er, rainyness?" 

Madam Pomfrey appeared with Hermione fast on her heels by the sounds of things. "Glad to see you've decided to rejoin us, Mr. Potter," she said, sounding genuinely pleased. "Now the rest of you, shoo. Harry needs to take some potions and get his rest." 

"But he's just slept for sixteen hours!" Ron complained. "How much more rest can he really need? In my opinion, he's overly rested. Too much resting is bad!" 

"When you've gone to MediWizard school for ten years and you become a fully qualified Healer, then you can decide what's right for my patient, Mr. Weasley!" Madam Pomfrey said. "But until then, get out of my infirmary and don't even bother coming back until tomorrow at the earliest!" 

"We'll see you later, Harry," Hermione said. "Be good. Do what she says, and try to rest." 

"As if he's in any state to fight her off," Ginny's voice said, getting fainter and fainter as his friends moved away. "Honestly. What's he going to do? Flutter his eyelashes at her?" 

Harry smiled then winced. Even the muscles in his _face_ hurt. But it was worth it, to have beaten Malfoy like that. Despite the foul-tasting potion Madam Pomfrey was spoon feeding down his throat and the vicious throbbing in his head, Harry felt immensely satisfied. He had faked out Draco Malfoy and brought his team to a stunning victory over Slytherin. It couldn't get much better than that. 


	7. Armies of Darkness

Chapter 7: Armies of Darkness

_"Passion. It lies in all of us. Sleeping, waiting. And though unwanted... unbidden... it will stir, open its jaws, and howl. It speaks to us, guides us... Passion rules us all. And we obey. What other choice do we have?" -Angelus, Passion_

"Please, Madam Pomfrey? I'm telling you, I can't possibly rest any more than I already have done. I feel fine!" 

Madam Pomfrey frowned at her patient, then heaved a great sigh. "Oh, all right then. I suppose you can rest in your dormitory, after all. But don't overexert yourself at the Feast tonight," she warned Harry, "or you'll have me to answer to!" 

"Yes, ma'am," Harry said meekly. He grinned at Ron and Hermione, who were standing by his cot, having come for a visit. He waited until the nurse had gone, then swung his legs over the side of the cot and prepared to stand up. His muscles still ached, even after two days of being in the infirmary, but Harry couldn't stand to stay there any longer. And he didn't want to miss the Halloween Feast that night, either. Halloween was always absolutely terrific at Howarts--decorations, real live flying bats, and the House-Elves always outdid themselves with the Feast. 

"Give me a hand, Ron," Harry said, gingerly placing his stockinged feet on the tile floor. "My muscles are still a bit on the shaky side." Ron helped him up, and Harry was relieved to find that, although he was still sore and aching from his crash, his legs seemed to be holding up just fine and he could walk without assistance. 

The trio left the infirmary and made their way to the Gryffindor common room. It was a Monday afternoon; luckily Ron and Hermione had a free period, or else they wouldn't have been able to help Harry convince Pomfrey to let him go. The common room was deserted, as most of the other Gryffindors were in class. Harry sank gratefully into a squashy chair by the fire the second they climbed through the portrait hole. 

"I've brought you the homework from Charms, Harry," Hermione told him, taking the chair opposite him and beginning to rifle through her very full bag. "You missed Glamour Charms. It was really very enlightening. We can go over it now, if you like." 

"Thanks Hermione, but I'm really more interested in whether you've found out anything about Slayers yet? Or Buffy in particular?" Hermione flushed and Harry saw her sneak a surreptitious glance at Ron before answering. 

"Well, we had a lot of work to do this weekend, I'm trying really hard to master that Locator Spell Willow taught us last week..." 

Harry glanced at Ron, his eyebrows raised. They'd had a whole weekend free, without even Quidditch practice to worry about, and they hadn't done any research? Ron saw his questioning glance and shrugged his shoulders. 

"Don't look at me, mate," he said, "I'm really just there for moral support. She's the one that does all the thinking." 

"Well, what _do _we know?" Harry asked, exasperated. If he didn't know better, he'd think that Ron and Hermione didn't care what their Defense professors were up to. Harry liked Buffy and Willow--respected them, even--but they were definitely up to something. He was sick of seeing his friends hurt, Harry thought grimly, and if that meant being a bit paranoid about things, then so be it. He refused to be responsible for anything bad happening at Hogwarts. If something happened to Ron or Hermione, he didn't think he could bear it. 

"Well," said Hermione, pulling out a notepad from her bag, "so far we don't know much. We know that when a Slayer dies, another is called. Buffy is the oldest Slayer on record." Hermione frowned thoughtfully. "She's only twenty-one. They don't have a very long life expectancy, do they?" 

"So one girl dies, and another girl is chosen to take her place?" Harry asked. "If Buffy has died twice, then shouldn't there be loads of Slayers running about?" 

"Well technically speaking, Buffy isn't the active Slayer. She was killed by the Master four years ago, and another girl was called to take her place. So that other girl must be the Slayer. Only I don't suppose she could just give it up or something. She's still got the powers and all," Hermione said. 

Harry sighed to himself. They didn't know much, that was true, and without actually asking Buffy or Willow about it, he didn't expect they'd learn much else. They'd been through most of the books in the Hogwarts library, and none of them so much as mentioned the Slayer, or the Watcher's Council, or anyone called Faith. There'd been a section on the Master in an outdated text entitled _Everything You Ever Wanted to Know about Vampires But Were Afraid to Ask. _All that book had said was that the Master was the oldest vampire on record and currently resided beneath a mystical barrier in America. Hermione had found mention of the Judge--the demon Malfoy had been so keen about in detention--in several books, but they all said the same basic thing: took an army to stop him, no weapon forged could kill him. None of which was useful to them at all. 

"It doesn't seem fair, does it?" Ron said, settling himself on the carpet in front of the fire. "I mean, one day you're just some normal teenage girl wondering whether John will ask you to the formal, and then--_bam!_ You've got a sacred duty to fulfill that will probably get you killed. Quickly." 

Harry frowned. Ron's words reminded him of something Buffy had said, something about having a destiny... "That's it!" he said excitedly. 

Ron sent him a confused look. "It is?" 

"Listen, do you remember back in detention, when I sort of, er, had that attack?" 

"You mean that time you blew up all of Snape's pickled rat brains in a fit of rage?" Hermione asked. "No, I'd completely forgotten. Must have slipped my mind somehow." She rolled her eyes. 

"Er, right," Harry said, embarrassed. "The point isn't the rat brain thing. Buffy came to talk to me after, and she said something about a British man telling her she had a destiny." 

Hermione's eyes lit up in sudden understanding, and a small smile played about her lips. "And the first day of class, do you remember what she said when she told us about being the Slayer?" 

"You mean the thing about dying before she could vote? Or the way she insulted our nationality? That _was _kind of rude, now that I think about it," Ron said. "She seems to have something against the British. Thinks all we do is drink tea and eat scones." 

Hermione huffed. "Honestly, Ron. Be _serious_ for once. She said that she missed the vampire's heart, her first time out, and she would've died right then if it hadn't been for..." 

"Her Watcher," Harry completed her thought triumphantly. They grinned at each other. 

"So what you're trying to tell me is that some British bloke calling himself Watcher told Buffy she's the Slayer?" Ron asked, confused. 

Harry frowned. "Well, I guess we really still don't really know anything for certain. This Watcher fellow, he helped Buffy kill that first vampire, right? So maybe he's not just some bloke they send out the one time, to inform girls of their sacred duty." 

"No," Hermione said with a dawning realization, "it's really very simple, isn't it? He's a Watcher. He _Watches._ He's like her... her boss or something." 

"Only, where is he now?" Ron asked. "If his job is to Watch her, what's she doing at Hogwarts without him? Plus, can you really picture Buffy taking orders from some stodgy British guy? And, I hate to be the constant bearer of bad news, but that _still_ doesn't tell us why they might possibly need a student." 

"No," said Hermione slowly, "but it does explain what the Watcher's Council is. It should've been obvious from the beginning! Remember what Willow told us about the creation of the Slayer? A group of men seeking to keep the world safe from the vampires and demons invoked druid earth magics to create the Slayer. The Watcher's Council must have evolved from those original creators!" 

"If the Council created the Slayer and is supposed to Watch her, then why did Buffy quit?" Harry asked, biting his lip. "What if she's not working for them anymore because, well, because she's working _against_ them?" His gaze flitted from Hermione's drawn expression to Ron's worried eyes. "She could be some kind of, of _rogue_ Slayer. That would certainly explain the lack of Watcher. And if that's the case, someone at Hogwarts is in grave danger." 

Just then the portrait hole swung forward, admitting a raucous group of fifth and sixth years returning from afternoon classes. "Harry!" Ginny said when she saw him. She, along with Seamus and Colin, came over to join them at the fire. 

"Pomfrey finally let you out, eh?" Seamus asked with a grin. "Brilliant catch, by the way. Been meaning to tell you, only that old dragon wouldn't let any of us in to see you! Said we'd be interfering with your rest." 

Harry grinned at him, his worries about the Slayer momentarily forgotten. "It was good, wasn't it? Wish I could have seen Malfoy's face when he realized I'd actually seen the Snitch." 

"He had a terrible fit right there on the pitch," Colin said cheerfully. "He's got no one to blame but himself, though. Should've realized you wouldn't fake a dive so close to the stands." 

"Are you coming to the Feast?" Ginny asked. "Only, I don't suppose you're up to it Harry." She sounded a bit put out, but patted him reassuringly on the arm. 

Harry stood up. "Of course I'm going. It's Halloween! I can't miss the pumpkin pasties, and I heard Dumbledore's got some famous band to play during dinner." 

"Great!" Hermione grinned mischievously. "Maybe there'll be dancing. You'll have to save a slot on your card for me, Harry," she said with a wink. 

Harry sat back down abruptly. He _hated_ dancing. Faced with fighting off a load of dementors or dancing, he'd take the dementors. "I'm feeling a bit woozy, actually," he lied. After two days straight in bed, he had more energy than he knew what to do with. "Maybe I'll stay here, and someone could just bring me a few pasties?" 

Ginny grabbed Harry's right arm and Hermione grabbed his left, and together they hauled him out of his chair and frog-marched him through the portrait hole. "You're going to the Feast, you're going to dance, and you're going to have fun!" Hermione commanded. 

"Ron!" Harry craned his neck around to send a pleading look toward his friend. Ron was too busy talking to Seamus and Colin to notice. 

"Did you see that save I made just after the rain really started coming down?" Ron was saying enthusiastically. "Pucey was aiming for the right hoop, but something about the way he held himself, I just _knew,_ and sure enough he went for the left at the last second!" 

Harry turned back to Hermione and Ginny, who were carrying on their own conversation in excited whispers on either side of him. "And you'll never guess who was in there with her!" Ginny said, gripping Harry's arm even tighter in her excitement. 

"Ow, Ginny!" Harry complained. 

"Sorry, Harry. But it's just too awful! You'll never guess," she said to Hermione, clearly wanting the other girl to give it a go anyway. 

"Er, Michael Corner?" Hermione ventured. 

Ginny shook her head. "Guess again." 

"Dean?" 

"Nope. Oh, you'll never get it. She was in there with what's her name, Marietta Edgecomb. I heard she spent all summer at St. Mungo's, getting those spots removed. She looked all right in the cupboard with Cho, that's for certain," Ginny giggled. 

Harry's startled gaze flew to Ginny's laughing face. Hermione gasped. "But surely they weren't, _you know!"_ Hermione said, utterly scandalized. 

"Oh, but they were!" Ginny said. "I guess things didn't work out with Michael for a _reason._ Oh, sorry Harry. I know you were kind of seeing her last year. But I'm sure it's no reflection on you, of course." Ginny gave his arm a little squeeze. 

Harry shrugged, willing himself not to think about what Ginny had just told Hermione. What Cho did in broom cupboards was none of his business, he told himself firmly. Upon reflection he found that it didn't really bother him all that much. His infatuation with the dark haired Ravenclaw had been well over by the end of his fifth year. Besides, he had more important things to worry about than who Cho was kissing these days. 

"That's all right," he told Ginny. "She wasn't a very good kisser anyhow." He grimaced, remembering his one kiss with Cho. She'd cried. It had been awful. 

They entered the Great Hall to find it already full of students and professors mingling and trying unsuccessfully to avoid the swooping swarms of live bats Professor Flitwick had conjured for the occasion. The long tables, Harry saw with relief, were still firmly in place. He didn't think there'd be room for dancing, although a band was setting up to the left of the head table. 

"Oh!" Ginny said when she saw the band. "That's Heisenburg's Handyman. They're supposed to be really good." The Gryffindors found seats near the center of the table, Hermione and Ginny finally relinquishing their hold on Harry after forcing him to promise he wouldn't turn and run if they let go. 

The Feast itself was magnificent. The House-Elves had really outdone themselves this year. There were hams and meat pies, roast chicken and lamb, and pumpkin had been incorporated into every dish somehow or other. "I wonder if the House-Elves have been watching _Iron Chef_?" Dennis Creevey said to a third year girl. 

"Iron _what_?" she asked, heaping her plate high with meat pie. 

Harry turned his attention to his plate, on which he'd piled a bit of everything. The food was delicious, but he thought it would be a long time before he wanted to even _see_ another pumpkin after this. The band started to play a very loud, fast paced song, so that after a bit everyone gave up trying to make conversation and simply bobbed in time to the music. Ginny leaped up at the sound of the music and pulled Hermione into the aisle between the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw tables to dance. Soon Parvati and Lavender joined them, although Hermione wasn't doing much dancing. Harry felt a bit sorry for her; everyone was watching them, and she looked extremely uncomfortable. That was, until she marched over to him and Ron and demanded they join her. 

"You have to!" she told them. "Harry, you promised." She pointed to the group of girls between the tables. They were giggling and dancing around to the music. 

"I did no such thing!" Harry said, but Hermione grabbed them both by the hand and yanked. Exchanging tortured glances, Harry and Ron allowed themselves to be dragged over to the group of dancing Gryffindors. They had just reached Ginny and the rest when a thunderous boom rang through the hall as the double doors flew open with such force that they slammed into the stone walls on either side of the arched entrance. The band stopped playing abruptly. Harry craned his neck toward the entrance, trying to see what all the ruckus was about. 

Harry strained his neck, standing on his tiptoes, but he couldn't see anything but loads of black pointed hats. Ron, who was tall enough to see over everyone else, turned to look as well. "It's Hagrid," he told Harry in a low voice. "He looks... he looks awful!" 

"Professor Dumbledore, sir!" Hagrid gasped, pushing his way through the students until he reached the head table. "You've got to come quick, sir! They're everywhere, coming out of the forest, they are!" He sounded out of breath, as if he'd run all the way from his hut, but his face was gray and haggard. "Dementors, sir!" 

At the word 'dementors' a first year screamed and the hall erupted in a general panic, students shouting and running for the doors. "Silence!" Dumbledore said in a quiet but commanding voice. "Everyone return to your seats. Professors, please come with me." 

The Professors all stood to follow Dumbledore. He turned to Buffy and Willow, and although Harry couldn't hear their words, he could tell that Buffy was arguing with the Headmaster. After a few moments she turned away angrily, but she and Willow did not follow the rest of the professors as they marched resolutely passed the House tables and out the doors of the Great Hall. Harry turned to follow automatically. If there were dementors at Hogwarts, he could help fight them. Inwardly he cringed at the idea, but this was what he was meant to do, after all--protect people, protect his friends. 

Hermione grasped his sleeve as he turned to leave. He looked down at her hand on his arm, confused. "Harry, what are you _doing?"_ she asked, her voice full of knowing dread. 

"I've got to go with them, Hermione," he said, his green eyes shining with determination and a bit of anticipation as well. "I can help them." 

Hermione stiffened and she dropped her hand from his sleeve. Reaching inside the pocket of her robes, she pulled out her wand. "Then I'm going too," she said. 

"Hermione, no. There's no time to argue about this!" Harry's voice was urgent. He didn't want his friends in danger, that was the whole point of him going--to protect them! 

"Then don't," said Ron, pulling out his wand as well. Ginny, Lavender, and Parvati all reached for their wands. Parvati looked like she might be sick right there, but her dark eyes were determined. All around them members of the D.A. were standing from their house tables, their wands out, ready to join the battle. Harry bit his lip, filled with indecision. This wasn't their fight, he thought frantically. If they were injured, it would be his fault. Nevertheless it gave him a feeling of incredible warmth that they were all willing to stand up with him in the face of this threat. He swallowed nervously. 

Hermione gave him a tremulous smile. "This is the kind of thing we've been training for, Harry. I know you think this is your battle, that you've got to do it all, but it's not. It's our world too, Harry, and I'll be damned if I'm going to stand around and watch it be torn to pieces!" Her dark eyes were fierce, daring him to contradict her. 

Harry gave in with a sigh. "Fine then. I can't stop you coming. Just don't get hurt, or I'll never forgive myself," he said. 

They turned as a group to leave the Hall. About twenty D.A. members had joined Harry. They ran through the entrance hall at top speed and burst through the front doors of the castle onto a horrifying scene. Their teachers stood just to the left of the forest, surrounded by dementors. Professors Sinastra and Vector lay immobile on the ground; the rest were shooting Patronuses frantically at the dementors, who were closing in quickly. Professor Dumbledore conjured a powerful Patronus that charged at least thirty dementors down, but there were _hundreds_ streaming out of the forest. There was no way the professors could contend with that many dementors alone. 

"Let's go!" Harry yelled, running forward. "And remember, think happy thoughts!" He motioned to Ron, Ginny, and a few others to approach the dementors from the left, while Harry, Hermione and the rest ran to the right, creating an outer circle around the dementors, trapping the creatures between themselves and the professors. _"Expecto Patronum!"_ Harry yelled, shooting a brilliant silver stag at the nearest group of dementors. They were like swarming ants on a bit of food, Harry thought to himself, disgusted, feeding off the life force of the witches and wizards around them. 

All around him he heard the echoing cries of his fellow students as they surrounded the dementors and began conjuring their own Patronuses, surprising the hooded creatures with their attack. Luna stood a few feet away from him, her blond hair waving in the wind as she yelled her spell. A huge silver blob erupted from the tip of Luna's wand, driving several dementors into the forest. Susan Bones and Neville were with him as well, expelling Patronuses in the direction of the hooded creatures, their faces determined and fierce. 

"Call your friends back, Potter!" Professor McGonagall yelled harshly from within the circle of dementors. Harry ignored her. If they left know, their teachers would _die,_ he was sure of it. 

_"Expecto Patronum!"_ Harry yelled as his only response. Despite the awful feeling of cold despair threatening to overwhelm him, Harry forced himself to continue, pulling a sudden burst of strength from within that kept him conscious. A bright silver stag leapt once more from his wand tip and cantered toward the crowd of dementors, its antlers bowed to sweep them aside. Harry saw Ron's eagle Patronus sweeping around the circle of dementors, driving them away, while Ginny's tiger Patronus leaped at the crowd of hooded creatures. Harry could feel himself getting colder and colder, and his vision began to grow blurry, but he reached down deep inside himself to conjure up yet another Patronus. 

Suddenly the air grew warmer, the cold, clammy feeling in his chest ebbed away, and Harry felt as if he could breathe freely again. The dementors were retreating into the forest at last. He was covered in a cold sweat and his hands were trembling. He felt utterly drained, but at the same time inexplicably elated. They had faced down a whole army of dementors and managed to drive them away, somehow. 

His friends gathered around him, looking drained and pale, but with a light in their eyes that matched the high Harry was experiencing at their victory. Harry thought he knew what they were feeling--a sense of accomplishment, that they were finally doing something to fight the darkness that threatened their world and their lives. 

"Potter!" Snape glared at the group of students on the lawn. "Just what do you think--" 

He was cut off by Professor McGonagall, whose voice shook with anger and fear. "Utterly irresponsible, leading students into danger like that! What were you _thinking?_ You could have been killed! You could have gotten them killed!" she yelled, her face pale and splotchy. 

"But he didn't," Professor Dumbledore said quietly from behind her. "And for that, at least, we should be grateful." 

"Please, Professor," Hermione spoke up, her voice earnest, "we had to help. And we did. It's not Harry's fault. He tried to stop us coming, but we couldn't let him go without us. This is our school, too," she added defiantly, "and we had to protect it!" Her voice trembled at contradicting a professor, but she stood straight, her shoulders back and her chin lifted, determined to defend Harry and take responsibility for herself. Harry felt a surge of gratitude for his friend and suddenly found himself blinking hard, trying to hold back tears. He was so lucky, he realized suddenly. So lucky to have friends like Hermione, friends willing to defend him and protect him the same way he wanted to do for them. 

The other students were speaking up now, too, a barrage of voices proclaiming Harry's innocence. Seamus was pointing out that they'd saved all their teachers from certain death, while Justin Finch-Fletchley exclaimed loudly that rampaging hippogriffs couldn't have dragged him from the battle. They were all defending him to McGonagall, and the poor woman looked defeated and drained. Professor Dumbledore placed a gentle hand on her shoulder and, giving Harry a tiny wink, lead her toward the castle doors. The rest of the professors had just begun to follow, Snape muttering darkly as he did so, when a cry went up among the students. 

"Ginny!" Dean yelled. "She was with me a few minutes ago, and now she's gone!" Harry felt as if someone had just punched him hard in the gut. All the blood drained from his head in a rush, leaving him trembling with fear. Ginny was missing. If something happened to her, he'd never forgive himself, he thought frantically. They had to find her! 

"Oh no, oh no!" Professor Flitwick said, wringing his tiny hands. "She can't have gone far! Professors, spread out and search the forest. Poor girl must've gotten lost in there in all the confusion." 

Harry knew no such thing had happened. Ginny was far too sensible to go anywhere near the forest, especially when the dementors had been retreating in that direction. "Harry," Hermione whispered urgently, "Harry, the map! If Ginny is still on school grounds, we should be able to find her with it!" 

"It's in my trunk," he said glumly. "Oh, of course! _Accio Marauder's Map!"_ he yelled out, praying frantically that his Summoning Charm would work. Ron's face was parchment white, his dusting of freckles standing out in stark contrast to his pale skin. "We'll find her, Ron," Harry said fervently, his eyes blazing. "I swear it." 

The map came zooming out of an open seventh floor window and raced across the lawn. Harry caught it deftly and unrolled the old parchment. "I solemnly swear I am up to no good," he muttered, tapping the map with his wand. Immediately lines appeared on the parchment, spreading out to form a detailed map of the castle and grounds. Harry's eyes searched frantically for Ginny's name. 

"I don't see her!" Ron said, his voice desolate. "Harry...!" 

"There!" Hermione yelled. "At the edge of the forest. And, oh no! Look who's with her." Her voice had dropped to a terrified whisper. Harry stared at the small blue dot that represented Ginny in horror. Two more tiny dots moved about the map near Ginny, labeled "Bellatrix Lestrange" and "Lucius Malfoy." A feeling of immense calm and cold fury swept through him. Bellatrix had one of his friends, but she wasn't going to get away this time. No, Harry thought, this time she would die. 

The map fell from his numb fingers as Harry stalked across the lawn to the forest, Ron and Hermione trailing a few paces behind him. The rest of the students watched them go. Harry faintly heard Parvati crying. All his concentration was focused on the forest as he headed toward the spot where he'd seen Ginny's name. They entered the forest quietly, not speaking as they swept passed the great trees, dead leaves crunching beneath their feet. From his left Harry could hear Professor Snape calling for Ginny, his voice sounding more human than Harry had ever thought possible. A sudden loud rustling coming from the bushes in front of them brought Harry up short. Stopping abruptly he held up a hand to Ron and Hermione, signaling that they should stay back. Harry approached the tangle of bushes, his wand held in front of him with a firm, steady hand. He half hoped it would be Lestrange. His rage was so great, he had no doubt that he could cast an Unforgivable curse at her. This time, he would succeed. 

The bushes exploded suddenly with a force that knocked Harry straight into Hermione, and they went tumbling onto the forest floor. Harry's glasses flew off and he scrambled for them frantically, wondering hysterically if he was going to die all because he'd lost his _glasses_ and couldn't see to defend himself. His fingers closed around metal and he hurried to put on the glasses. The world came into sharp focus and suddenly Ginny was there, stumbling from the wreckage of the bushes. Her eyes were wild and frantic as she lurched towards him, bleeding profusely from a long gash on her arm. "Harry!" she yelled, her voice a mixture of relief and pain. "Ron! We've got to get out of here!" 

Ron caught her as she tripped over a root. Flinging her arm around his shoulders, Ron supported her as Harry and Hermione followed. "They're right behind me!" Ginny gasped. "Lucius Malfoy and Bellatrix Lestrange... they're here. How are they here?!" 

Snape emerged from the trees ahead of them, his wand held before him with a steady hand. His dark eyes shone with a strange mixture of disgust, determination, and fury. "Potter," he spat, motioning for them to move quickly, toward the path out of the forest. "I should have known you'd do something so foolish as to go looking for the girl yourself. Are you _trying_ to get yourself killed, or is it simply that you've got too many friends to keep up with? Looking to lose another with your recklessness?" 

A sudden anger burned hot in Harry at Snape's words, which so exactly matched his own guilty feelings. Only when Snape said them, Harry felt defensive and angry, rather than guilt-ridden and upset. He glared at the Professor, his rage bubbling just beneath the surface, wishing that just this once he could hex Snape, really let him have it. Sirius had been right not to trust the man. He had been a Death Eater, a dark wizard, and always would be, regardless of what Dumbledore thought. Harry fingered his wand almost unconsciously as Snape's dark eyes dared him to try something. 

"Harry, don't!" Ginny gasped. "We've got to get out of here _now!"_ Harry blinked and suddenly his anger fled, leaving behind only worry for his friends and the desire to see them all safely back in the castle. 

"Right," he said, turning away from Snape after a moment of thoughtful silence. "Come on, then. That cut looks bad, Ginny. We'd better take you to the hospital wing straight away." 

They made their way back to the castle in silence, each lost in their own thoughts. Harry's mind swirled frantically around several ideas at once, all fighting for dominance in his mind. Why had Lucius Malfoy and Bellatrix Lestrange tried to take Ginny? Were they after her in particular? And for that matter, how had Ginny managed to escape them so quickly? A sudden image flashed in his mind--Bellatrix kneeling on the floor before him, head bowed. _"We have to get the girl,"_ his dream self had said. _"Yes master,"_ Bellatrix's eager voice whispered in his mind, _"she will be yours."_

Could that conversation that he'd dreamed--his vision--possibly have been about Ginny? He'd never told Dumbledore about it like he'd promised Ron and Hermione. He'd had detention that night, had that fight with Malfoy, and in all the confusion he'd completely forgotten to speak to the headmaster about his dream. _But is that really it?_ a sneaky little voice in the back of his mind piped up unexpectedly. _Did you really just forget, or did you refrain from talking to the headmaster for a reason?_

They reached the castle doors and hurried through them. Students huddled in small groups in the entryway and all along the corridors, whispering in hushed tones as the four of them passed through on their way to the hospital wing. Harry caught snatches of their conversations, bits and pieces that made him feel as if he were in some sort of play and didn't know the lines, and wasn't even really sure of the plot, for that matter. "...Shield Spell was absolutely unreal!" "...got his own army, I hear." "I heard five students died!" 

Only days later, after the excitement of the attack had died down and things had pretty much returned to normal, did Harry find out what had happened inside the castle while he and his friends had been fighting off the dementors. Willow, it seemed, had done a particularly impressive spell that formed a shield of magical energy around the Great Hall—nothing had been able to get in or out while the barrier was in place. All of the students that hadn't gone out to fight were trapped inside the barrier, with the result that none of them had seen anything of the attack first hand and rumors spread like wildifre about what had actually happened. 

Harry followed Ron and Ginny down the twisting corridors, trying to ignore the students around him. It would have been easier if they didn't seem to be _staring_ at him so intently and whispering behind their hands. Just ahead, Ron and Ginny stopped suddenly. Ron's shoulders drew up, tense, and his voice was full of anger and a tired sort of desperation when he spoke. "Get out of the way, Malfoy." 

Harry stepped up to stand on Ginny's other side, so that between him and Ron, nothing could happen to her. Malfoy's eyes flicked from Ron to Harry, then to Ginny, trembling with weakness between them. Behind him, Crabbe and Goyle stood menacingly, cracking their knuckles with strange grins on their faces. "Well," Malfoy said after a long moment, "isn't it just like a load of foolish Gryffindors, to go running off to save the day and end up getting themselves hurt instead." His lip curled at them in distaste. "You can't really think you've won." 

Harry'd had _enough._ He strode forward quickly, his wand held straight in front of him. The very air around him seemed to crackle with a furious energy as he pressed the tip of his wand hard into Malfoy's chest, just above his heart. 

"This is just the beginning," Harry said, his voice low and dangerous. His eyes, always bright, positively burned as he stared Malfoy down. "You think we don't know that? But we'll fight, and we'll keep on fighting, until we're free or we're dead! Because what's the point of living, if you've got to do it under the oppression of a psychopathic murderer? At least," he added, taking another step forward so that the two boys were only a few inches apart, "At least I'll have _lived._ I'm alive, which is more than I can say for you, if you don't get out of our way _now._" 

Malfoy's icy silver eyes stared into his, returning his fury with equal fire. He didn't back down, Harry had to give him that, but that was the _only_ thing Harry would give him. His father had just attacked the school with dementors and attempted to kidnap Ginny for who knows what reason. Harry's nerves had reached a point of tautness so great he could practically feel them straining against his skin, desperate for relief. If something didn't give, he would snap. He only hoped Malfoy would be the one to bear the brunt of his rage unleashed. He glared into Malfoy's eyes, daring the other boy to say something, anything--to give him the slightest excuse to let loose all his frustration and pain and anger onto the pale boy in front of him. 

"What is the meaning of this?" Professor McGonagall's irate voice echoed down the corridor from a distance behind him. "You students should be in your common rooms! Go on, it's not safe here!" she hustled a group of Ravenclaws down the corridor. Harry knew she would notice the group of them in a moment, lecture them, maybe even give him a detention for threatening another student. At some point Harry knew he'd be dragged to Dumbledore's office, where they'd have a long, tiring discussion about the importance of his continued safety and maybe even a lecture about not judging people based on their parents' actions, but for now Harry couldn't force himself to care. His eyes focused unblinkingly on Malfoy, who stared back as if frozen in a pose of pure, unadulterated hatred. If he would only so much as twitch, move his wand arm just a bit, it would be enough of an excuse for Harry. After all the pain and death and anger and betrayal of the last few months, the world seemed to narrow to this--standing in a corridor with the one accessible person in this world he hated enough to hurt. He would _destroy_ Malfoy if he could. At that moment, he felt he felt he could produce a perfect Cruciatus curse. 

Then Malfoy did something that took Harry completely off guard. He held up his hands, palms facing Harry, and began backing away from him. Crabbe and Goyle wore identical looks of confusion, but followed Malfoy's lead, turning to leave the corridor and head toward the Slytherin common room. "If that's the way of it, Potter," he said calmly, his eyes unreadable in the shifting torch light of the corridor, "then consider me surrendered. Go on, get your little girlfriend to the infirmary. You've managed to damage someone tonight, and ironically enough it was one of the people you should have been protecting. You've won this battle. But it doesn't end here." He paused, his eyes deadly serious but a small smile playing about his lips. "No, it never ends." With that he turned his back on them and strode out of sight, his cloak swirling around the corner in a swish of black and green. 

After seeing Ginny to the hospital wing, Harry and Hermione left her there with Ron, who hovered protectively as if he expected Death Eaters to burst in at any moment. Hermione was unusually pensive as they climbed the many staircases to Gryffindor tower, a frown marring her forehead in what Harry suspected would quickly become permanent worry lines. 

"It just doesn't seem right, does it?" she said suddenly, stopping in the middle of the seventh floor corridor. 

"What doesn't?" Harry asked tiredly. After all the emotions of the day--his happiness during the Feast, the sense of inevitability during the attack, his fear when he'd realized Ginny was missing, and finally his anger at Malfoy--he couldn't feel anything at this point, not even interest in what Hermione was saying. He felt numb and drained. Nothing seemed to matter; all he wanted to do was climb into his bed and sleep. He had given so much of himself. He had nothing left, not even for Hermione. He began walking again, not caring if she thought he was rude. 

"What would Lestrange and Malfoy want Ginny for?" she asked, following after Harry, her face a mask of confusion. "How did she escape so quickly? Maybe they grabbed the wrong person and let her go. But no, they wouldn't just let her go, would they?" 

They reached the portrait of the Fat Lady and Harry climbed through, his mind blissfully blank as he let his body follow its usual patterns mechanically. Hermione was asking the same questions that he had been asking himself, but he just couldn't think about it now. He headed toward dormitory stairs, leaving Hermione staring after him in the center of the common room, a look of dumb shock on her face. He'd never just walked away from her before. He knew that he was probably hurting her, but his brain simply refused to process anything further. 

"Harry, are you even listening to me?" she called after him. "Are you just... are you just going to walk away?" The aching quality of her words made him pause on the third stair. 

"I just can't do this right now," he said, his back to her. He gripped the railing of the staircase with a clammy hand, willing himself onward. 

"I... I understand," she said finally, her voice cracking with emotion. 

"No, you don't understand. You can never understand. No one can." Harry's voice was quiet and devoid of emotion. As he made his way up to his room, he could hear Hermione sobbing quietly in the empty common room. He would have to make it up to her later, he knew, but for now... He focused on his bed, and sleep... Sleep, where his mind would be empty of the day's events and he could pretend, if only a few hours, that he was a normal boy again. 

A dreamless sleep was not to be. He dreamed again that night--of the club and the Sirius of Snape's youth. They sat at a high round table, sipping fizzy drinks and listening to the band play as if they were out for a night on the town. The club was dark as, lit only by strange colored lights on the ceiling that spun around, sending their beams in all different directions. Sirius sat across from him, his face layered in shadows, his lips curved in a frown. He tossed his hair out of his eyes impatiently and leaned forward, gesturing for Harry to do the same. 

He brought his mouth close to Harry's ear. "Fear no more the heat o' the sun, nor the furious winter's rages," he whispered, his breath strangely cold in Harry's ear. Harry drew back uncertainly, confusion written clearly on his young face. Sirius's dark eyes bored into his, then shifted to the crowd of dancers. 

The flickering lights settled briefly on a couple near the edge of the dance floor. Their backs were to him, the girl dancing seductively to the slow, heavy strains of the music while the boy watched, letting his hands slide from her hands raised above her head, down her arms and sides to grasp her hips firmly. Even in the dim lighting there was no mistaking the boy--Harry knew of no one but Draco Malfoy with hair that color. The music grew louder and louder, until the words of the song were all he could hear. 

_I will burn for you, feel pain for you. I will twist the knife that bleeds my aching heart, and tear it apart. I will lie for you, beg and steal for you. I will crawl on hands and knees until you see, you're just like me..._

Draco's head bent toward the girl, whispering something in her ear and she turned to face him, her red hair whipping around in a vibrant circle of color--Ginny. With a sudden shock of movement and blur of color and space as if he'd just been transported by a Portkey, Harry was Draco, standing on the dance floor with Ginny in his arms, staring up at him. Her eyes were dark, almost black, and he lost himself in their depths and time split its husk, expanding in an impossibly endless moment. _Moments like this are buds on the tree of life, flowers of darkness they are,_ he thought as he fell deeper and deeper into her gaze. 

She began to sing in earnest, over the words of the song that played around them. Harry felt as if he were drowning in the music itself, the waves of its hypnotic rhythm crashing over him again and again, until all he could do was hold onto Ginny as tight as he dared, unable to let go. 

_"Violate all the love that I'm missing. Throw away all the pain that I'm living. You will believe in me. And I can never be ignored..."_ Her voice resounded in his ears, low and husky, and his mind wrapped itself around her words, seeking shelter from the storm of music. Her fingers trailed from his shoulders up his neck to tangle in the hair at his nape. Tightening her grip on his head almost painfully, she leaned up and pressed her lips fiercely against his. 

Her lips were burning hot against his, mirroring the scorching intensity of his emotions, the keenness with which he felt that brief kiss. He felt it deeply, to his core; this was the first thing that had felt truly _right_ and so singularly _perfect_ to him since Sirius's death. 

The moment thoughts of Sirius entered his mind she pulled away, leaving him feeling strangely empty and cold. She backed away from him slowly, letting her hands fall gracefully to her sides. Her hair began to darken and shorten, the delicate bones in her face shifted, became more angular, until she was Ginny no longer, and Sirius once again stood before him. 

"When sorrows come, they come not in single spies, but in battalions," he said. He turned his back on Harry and began walking away slowly. Harry was beginning to hate these dreams, dreams that made him feel the joy of being with Sirius once again immediately followed by the immeasurable pain of losing him all over. He watched Sirius's retreating back with a mixture of pain, longing, and anger. Sirius glanced back over his shoulder at Harry one last time. "You have to know what to see." 

Harry woke with a start, his heart pounding hard and irregularly in his ears. The exact images of the dream were vague and soft with sleep, but the panic of his racing heart, the sweat that soaked his pajamas and the dull throbbing of his scar were all too painfully real. Reaching for his glasses Harry kicked off his blankets and stood on shaky legs. No matter what his reasoning had been before, he had to go to Dumbledore now. He felt it deep in his gut--something was coming, something big. He wanted answers. 

Drawing back the bed hangings carefully, Harry opened his trunk as quietly as he could and rummaged around until he found what he was looking for--his father's old Invisibility Cloak. Taking a deep breath he pulled the cloak on, letting the silky, liquid-like fabric settle around him. 

As he made his way as quickly and quietly as possible along the deserted corridors, Harry tried desperately to remember the specifics of his dream. Sirius had been there, of that he was certain, and someone else close to him too. It was the emotions he remembered most--the overwhelming feeling of betrayal, followed immediately by a sense of perfect rightness, then loss, pain, and confusion. And something about the sun, and spies... what had Sirius been trying to tell him? 

Because now, after two of these dreams, Harry was certain that they couldn't be ordinary productions of his unconscious mind. Somehow, someway, Sirius was sending him messages, trying to tell him something. Trying to... to warn him? If only he could remember his words! 

More quickly than he'd thought possible, Harry found himself in front of the gargoyle that guarded the headmaster's office. He had no idea what time it was, or, he realized, what he planned to say to the headmaster once he wakened him. He could just imagine how the conversation would play out. 

"Er, excuse me Professor, but I've had another nightmare," Harry would say. 

Dumbledore would nod thoughtfully and appear concerned. "Yes, I rather expected as much," he would tell Harry gravely. "As Voldemort's power increases, so too will the frequency and vibrancy of your visions." 

"No sir. I mean, this dream was different. It was... I think it was from Sirius." 

And then Dumbledore would look even more concerned, and worry if perhaps Harry had finally lost it. He'd realize that, with Harry as its only hope of salvation, the wizarding world was doomed and they might as well give up to Voldemort sooner, while lives could still be spared, rather than later. 

No, Harry decided suddenly, he couldn't go to Dumbledore with this. The old man was counting on him to fulfill the prophecy. He truly believed that somehow, someway, Harry could defeat the greatest dark wizard since Salazar Slytherin himself. If anything, Harry thought bitterly, he couldn't take away the hope of an old man, the one man who might actually be able to save them. Turning his back on the gargoyle, Harry made his way despondently back to his dormitory. Buffy was right, after all. Her words echoed in his head as he climbed back into bed and pulled the hangings, laying down for what he knew would be another restless night. "In the end you're always by yourself. You're all you've got..." 

He closed his eyes, but sleep refused to take him. 

Over the next few weeks Harry threw himself into his studies and practices in a vain attempt to drown out the sneaking suspicions in his head and to so thoroughly exhaust himself that the dreams could not come. He worked long hours in the common room, going over his essays with more rigor than was strictly necessary, to the surprise of Ron and the delight of Hermione, who, he suspected, finally felt as if they had something in common. Quidditch practices became more brutal than ever. Harry drove his team hard, knowing that his Beaters had to shape up if they were going to defeat Ravenclaw in their next match, which take place shortly after the holidays. 

D.A. meetings were equally driven, with Harry drilling the group in all manner of hexes, curses, and jinxes. By the end of November they'd all successfully mastered the Slashing Hex, Jumping Jinx, and Implosion Curse. In what little spare time he made for himself, Harry began helping Hermione with her potion making and research. They had nearly completely the Chronos Concoction and were just beginning the speed and agility potion. 

Harry found he had no trouble keeping himself too busy to think, with everything he had going on. His classes, Quidditch, and the D.A. kept him busy enough, but he had additional lessons to contend with as well. His Occlumency lessons had been going well, and helped to exhaust him so completely that, if it weren't for Snape's continued hostility toward him, Harry would almost look forward to them. His lessons with Willow were tiring in a different way; after each lesson he found himself more frustrated with his inability to accomplish even the smallest bits of wandless spells, aside from turning people into rats, which Harry didn't see as being terribly useful. 

"Harry, are you even _trying?_" Willow asked him one day, sounding just as frustrated as he felt. She was trying to teach him a simple spell that would allow him to conjure fire from thin air, but all he'd been able to do so far was produce the slightest bit of smoke. And even that time was probably just a trick of the lighting, Harry thought with a disappointed sigh. 

"Look, I just can't do this. It's a waste of your time, trying to teach me," Harry said miserably. 

"Whatever. I can teach you, but you have to want to learn. And if you're not going to try, then why should I even bother?" She frowned at him, her hands on her hips. "Now try again, and this time _actually_ try. Remember, this is a concentration exercise. Don't worry too much about the words. Think fire," she commanded. 

Harry concentrated hard, willing his mind to clear of all thoughts and focus only on the space between them. "In the spirit of Apollo, King of Sun and Fire, I call. Forces of fire, thee do my will. From air to fire... create!" All of his energy was focused on the words, the space in front of him, and the idea of fire. He was concentrating so hard that he almost didn't notice the sudden rush of heat running through him, bursting from his fingers and springing into the air, creating a small ball of fire. 

"Concentrate, Harry," Willow whispered excitedly. "You can control the fire, it's connected to you. Try pushing it toward that desk over there." 

_Move,_ Harry thought at the fire, not realizing that he'd said the word out loud as well. The fire moved slowly but inexorably toward the desk. _Move!_ he thought harder, and with a sudden lurch, the flames flew across the room. The desk promptly burst into flames, breaking Harry's concentration. He felt a sudden swoop of coldness in his gut and a strange feeling of loss as the force he'd been channeling left him. To his embarrassed horror the desk was burning merrily in the center of the classroom, the flames consuming it very close to threatening the chair beside it. 

Willow merely waved her hand at it. "Extinguish!" she commanded. The fire died instantly, leaving the desk a charred, smoking heap. 

"I've ruined that desk," Harry said in surprise. He shook his head. 

"Harry," Willow said, smiling at him, "Harry, you _did_ it! You conjured fire. Without crystals and those smelly herbs, even." 

"It's just a small spell," Harry said, although he was secretly pleased with himself. He smiled. "I really did it, didn't I?" 

"That's a big, fiery yes," Willow said. "Now go away. I have papers to grade. You guys should think about getting some computers in here. You would not _believe_ some of the handwriting I have to deal with!" 

Harry retrieved his bag from Willow's desk and headed back to Gryffindor, where he needed to begin his Potions essay on the importance of rosemary for memory potions. In class the week before they had begun a particularly difficult memory potion that took two weeks to brew. The potion itself would induce the drinker to relive repressed memories—primarily in the form of dreams--hidden within his unconscious mind. Snape had hinted that they would be testing their potions on the last day of the term, and Harry knew his needed to be perfect. Snape could very well kick him out of the class after this term. 

He was just rounding the corner on the third floor corridor when the sound of two people speaking in hushed, angry tones echoed down the stone walls. He crept closer, sticking to the shadows, and saw two figures on the stair ahead. 

"Why are you doing this, Weasley?" Draco Malfoy's arrogant tones caught his ear. His voice sounded confused and almost wishful. "I thought you and Potter..." 

Harry moved closer at the sound of his name. The sight that greeted him shocked him to his core. There on the stair, hidden in the shadows, stood Draco Malfoy and Ginny. They stood apart, both looking extremely uncomfortable. Harry didn't know what to make of it. Ginny wasn't exactly being friendly with Malfoy, but neither were they fighting as they normally did. What could she be playing at, having a private conversation in a shadowy corridor with a Malfoy, of all people? 

"Harry and I..." Ginny trailed off, looking far away, "...maybe at one time I would have been happy to have him. But now, after Tom... I can't." 

Malfoy's eyes narrowed. "You crave the dark, is that it? Sick of perfect Potter and his oh-so-morally-superior friends?" 

Ginny took a step back, surprise written clearly on her face. "No, it's nothing like that!" she said with more vehemence than Harry had known she could posses. "It's just... didn't you know? Harry looks like him. And sometimes... when I see him from a distance, or out of the corner of my eye, I think he is Tom, come back for me." She shuddered. 

Harry turned away from them and strode back down the corridor toward the opposite stair, resolved not to listen in on their conversation any longer. He had heard enough--more than enough--and was surprised to find how hurt he was by Ginny's comments. He repulsed her, because he looked like Tom Riddle. Riddle, who had possessed her and stolen bits of her soul; Riddle, who had manipulated her for an entire year, taken away her free will and forced her to work his dark magics. And this was who Ginny saw when she looked at him? No wonder she had been avoiding him for weeks, ever since the incident with the dementors. She had been acting so strangely lately: leaving a room when he entered, changing direction in the halls between classes when she saw him coming, and if he did manage to catch her, she made hasty excuses and fled. 

As he climbed the stairs to the seventh floor corridor, a rush of guilt and anger flooded him. He felt terrible that he reminded Ginny of her time with Riddle, but all the same, it wasn't his fault he looked like him. And why had it never been a problem before? Was it because he was older now, closer to the age Riddle had been when he'd preserved the memory of himself in his diary? And why couldn't Ginny differentiate between the two of them? He may resemble Riddle physically, but he was completely different in all other ways, all the important ways! Couldn't Ginny see past his exterior, to know that he wasn't anything like Riddle? How could she ever possibly think so? 

Harry had worked himself into a fine rage by the time he reached the common room. He made his way over to Ron and Hermione, who were spending a rare night off from homework playing a game of chess. Ron was winning, of course; Hermione had never been a match for him, although she kept trying nonetheless. Harry pulled up a chair to their table and slumped miserably in it, drumming his fingers impatiently on the arm. 

"Harry, do you _mind?_" Hermione asked, glaring at her chess pieces. "I'm trying to concentrate." Harry frowned at her. Her mood seemed to match his tonight. He wondered if it had anything to do with Ron, who hadn't looked anywhere but the chessboard since Harry arrived, despite the fact that he was obviously winning and had never had to pay much attention to the chessboard in games against Hermione anyway. 

"Look," Harry said, ignoring her sniping tone, "this is important. I've just--" he lowered his voice to a whisper, glancing around the common room to make sure no one else was listening, "I've just seen Ginny on the stair, talking to Malfoy." 

Hermione's eyes flew to meet his, but Ron merely shrugged. "Talking as in fighting and slandering each other's families and nearly resorting to fisticuffs, you mean?" 

"No," Harry said, "it was a conversation. The kind without insults and flying hexes." Harry then proceeded to tell them everything he'd heard. Hermione gazed at him in mute sympathy, while Ron's face got redder and redder until he finally stood and bent over Harry's chair threateningly. 

"Look, I don't care what you think you heard. You think I can't tell what you're on about, the both of you? Oh, I know you think I'm not as clever as you, that I can't put things together like you can. But if you're trying to insinuate that my sister is... is in _league_ with _Malfoy_ of all people... then I, well I don't know what I'll do because I'm too upset right now to think of something, but it'll be bad!" He glared at Harry and Hermione in mute defiance, daring them to argue. 

"Ron, please calm down!" Hermione said. "I don't think Ginny is in with Malfoy, but she _has_ been acting strange lately, you've got to admit. Harry, you said you saw them. Were they standing close together, anything that would indicate...?" 

Harry shook his head as Ron dropped back into his own chair, his face a blank mask. "No, and they looked really uncomfortable too. What I want to know is, how can she possibly think I'm anything like Riddle? It's completely ridiculous!" 

Hermione's eyebrows shot up. "Honestly, Harry. Stick to the matter at hand. I hardly think it's important what Ginny _told_ Malfoy. She was probably lying, anyway. It's more the fact that they were talking at all." 

"I don't think so," Harry said, anger in his voice. "She seemed sincere. And you two never saw him. Riddle, I mean. I look like him," he admitted bitterly. "I do." 

Hermione stood up. "Well, I'll try to catch Ginny tonight in her dormitory. Maybe a bit of girl talk will loosen her lips and we can find out what she's up to. Anyway, I've been meaning to ask her what exactly happened in the forest on Halloween, but she never seems to be around anymore." 

"You can do that? That girl talk thing? Will there be gossiping about boys and painting each other's toenails, then?" Ron asked snidely. 

Hermione glared at him. "When will you learn, Ron Weasley, that I AM A GIRL?" With that, Hermione stormed off to her dormitory, stomping her feet and leaving several first and second years staring after her as if she was mad. Ron left soon after, muttering something about needing his sleep for Hogsmeade the next day, but Harry remained in the common room, resolving to wait until Ginny returned. Pulling out his potions notes and his copy of _One Thousand Magical Plants and Fungi,_ Harry tried to concentrate on his essay, but his mind kept replaying the conversation he'd witnessed. The common room emptied slowly. It was a Friday night so none of the Gryffindors were in much of a rush to go to bed, and the Hogsmeade visit the next day meant his housemates were more exuberant than usual. Hours passed and still Ginny did not return to Gryffindor tower. As his anger mounted, so too did his feelings of guilt and worry. What if something had happened to Ginny, what if Malfoy had done something to her, and he had just left her there with that pointy-faced git? Harry had walked away because he'd heard something he didn't like, not even considering the safety of his friend... 

Just as the last straggler mounted the steps toward the dormitory, the portrait hole swung forward and Ginny stepped through, quietly shutting the portrait behind her. She was holding her robes, rather than wearing them; instead she wore Muggle clothes--plain jeans and a white t-shirt. She had a decidedly mussed appearance; her hair straggled from its tie at the back of her head and her clothes were rumpled and dirty. She seemed tired, too, her shoulders slumped and weary. When she turned back to face the common room, her eyes lit on Harry and she started. 

"Harry! What are you still doing up? It's late. You should be in bed," she scolded. 

Harry stood up slowly, his eyes never leaving Ginny's face. He didn't know what he hoped to find there, but the guilty, closed expression he saw in her eyes wasn't it. "And so should you. Curfew was hours ago," he said, his voice deceptively casual. "What was so important, that you'd risk getting detention and losing points from Gryffindor?" 

She laughed nervously, taking a few steps toward the spiraling stair that led to her dormitory. "You sound like Hermione. Next you'll be making me color-coded study charts and telling me it's only six months until O.W.L.s." 

She reached the stair and was about to start up it when Harry spoke. "I know what's going on, Ginny." She froze and turned to face him, a strange mixture of incredulity and relief in her eyes. Harry didn't know anything, not really, but he couldn't let her just go off again and avoid talking to him as she'd done for the past two weeks. His anger, too, was rising, bubbling just beneath the surface. Why was she being like this, so secretive and closed off from him, when he'd always been able to read her expressions so easily? Why was she hiding things from him, avoiding him so suddenly? Suddenly he realized--this could have nothing to do with Tom Riddle or the similarity in their looks. He'd been confused by her conversation with Malfoy, so taken off guard by the strangeness of it that he'd been blinded to the obvious. He may have looked like Riddle once, but they were only the superficial similarities of dark hair and pale skin. And the deeper similarities--his ability to speak Parseltongue, their wands, the Sorting Hat wanting to put him in Slytherin--in his mind those were things that connected him to Riddle, but Ginny didn't know about them. Couldn't know, as she'd been unconscious in the Chamber of Secrets. So why then had she told Malfoy that, and what was she hiding from them? 

"What do you mean, you _know?_" she asked, taking long strides now to stand directly in front of him. "Harry, this is serious! You can't go telling anyone, not Ron, not Hermione..." Her face was flushed with anger, but in her eyes he saw something else... fear, and something deeper, something like loathing. 

Harry's eyes narrowed into slices of burning green as he glared at her. When he spoke, his voice was low and dangerous. "Ginny, they already know. Ron doesn't believe it of course. Can't, can he, you being his sister and all. Who would believe that sweet, innocent little Ginny Weasley would be in league with _them_?" 

"Them? Harry, I don't... I don't understand!" Her own eyes narrowed and she shook her head in confusion. 

"I saw you with him!" Harry said. "I... I heard what you said, about me and Riddle. That you can't stand to be around me. Well I'm not like him, Ginny, I'm not!" Harry yelled. "And I don't see how you possibly believe that, either! Why did you say those, those things? What were you doing with Malfoy? What happened in the forest on Halloween, for that matter, and why have you been avoiding me ever since?" As he spoke Harry's anger quickly dissipated, shifting and tearing inside him until all he could feel was the pain of her words slicing through him, the keenness of betrayal that she'd told _Malfoy_ and not him, and worst of all the terrible, wrenching fear that she might be right. 

Her face paled suddenly and she took a step away from him. She was trying to gather herself, Harry saw, but her eyes betrayed her still. She'd winced at his shouted accusations, but the amber depths of her eyes remained cold and calculating. "Harry, I know you feel betrayed." 

"Yes, well, that's one of the unpleasant side effects of betrayal," Harry said, his voice bitter. 

She flinched at his words and looked away from him. "I suppose I deserve that," she said, her voice low. Her eyes blazed at him with sudden anger. "I'm sorry you had to hear those things, Harry. Those words were never meant for your ears. But you've got to understand, there are some things I can't tell you. Some things I _won't_ tell you." 

"But you'll tell Malfoy? He doesn't even know you." He glared at her. 

She glared right back. "_You_ don't know me, Harry! And you've never tried to be my friend before now. One guess as to why _that_ is! You three are desperate to know what happened in the forest. You don't care about me and you never have. Even Ron... you know, before he came to Hogwarts and met you, we were best friends. We did everything together, shared everything. But now I'm lucky if I can get him to say two words to me." She stopped suddenly, breathing hard. Harry's mind raced with a blurring whorl of thoughts. He'd never seen Ginny this angry and this hurt, and he didn't know what to do, especially when his own anger still coursed through him. "I thought that things would be different this year. It seemed as if... but the second we got to school, everything went back to how it always was. So yeah, Harry, I do talk to Malfoy. Because he at least doesn't _pretend_ friendship and caring. He at least is _honest_ in his derision. He calls me a stupid little girl to my _face_ rather than just treating me like one!" 

"I don't think you're stupid, but you're certainly aiming to change my mind!" Harry yelled. "It's _Malfoy,_ Ginny! He's not your friend, and he never will be. He's just like his father. Or have you forgotten what his father did to _you_!?" 

Ginny backed away from him, wrapping her arms around her body tightly in an unconscious effort to protect herself from his words. Her voice cracked when she spoke, but her eyes blazed with loathing and rage. "How could I forget, Harry? When Riddle is out there right now, biding his time, waiting to get his hands on me. Again." She turned her back on him and started up the stair to her dormitory. "Just leave me alone from now on. I don't want to see you." 

Harry knew he should stop her, call her back and work things out, but he didn't. He was sick of having to fight for everything, of having to convince people he was genuine! If Ginny wanted to think he was like Riddle, if she'd rather sneak around with Malfoy and put herself in danger, that was her lookout. He couldn't protect his friends if they didn't want protecting. "Fine," he muttered to himself, "that's just the way I want it. She wants to run about with Malfoy, fine. We don't need her anyway." 

Harry lay in bed that night, eyes wide open, replaying the argument in his head over and over. Sleep refused to come. Instead, Ginny's words echoed in his mind, and no matter how hard he tried to think of other things, or to clear his mind for his Occlumency practice, her words wouldn't leave him. If he could maintain his anger, that would be one thing. But instead the familiar feelings of guilt and worry had begun to set in, driving away the cleanness of rage. Anger was so easy to deal with, so unadulterated in its single minded pursuit to burn and destroy. Guilt hungered. It survived to feed on worry and doubt and torturous thoughts of what could have been. It _howled._

The problem was, Harry knew Ginny was right. He and Ginny hadn't been comfortable around each other since they'd met, and Ron often pretended he didn't _have_ a younger sister when it came to doing anything remotely dangerous or important. And Hermione... he'd thought the two of them were friends, but what kind of friend could she really be to Ginny when her first loyalties were always to him and Ron? They had closed themselves off from her, decided long ago that her fate would be--had to be--separate from theirs. He thought it had been out of a desire to protect her. Ginny was younger than them, and unconnected to Harry in a way that would make her much less of a target for Voldemort and his followers. 

Perhaps... perhaps they had underestimated her, and in doing so ensured her betrayal. They had sent her running straight to the other side. Straight to Malfoy, who was certainly cunning enough to convince her with his "I'm so misunderstood" act. And it was an act, of that Harry was sure. Ginny didn't know, hadn't been around for Malfoy's worst acts toward them. Shutting her out had been a mistake, he saw that now. Rather than protecting her, it had given Voldemort access to someone he knew was a weakness. Ginny had given into Voldemort once before, had been possessed by him. Could it be happening again? 

Harry's thoughts raced furiously. What had Riddle told him down in the Chamber? _I grew powerful. Powerful enough to start feeding Miss Weasley a few of my secrets, to start pouring a little of my soul back into her..._ Harry covered his face with his hands, wishing he could stop thinking. A theory was beginning to take shape in his mind. He resisted it with all his will, but it simply couldn't be ignored. Everything added up--the strange warning dreams, the events of Halloween, the conversation they'd overheard between Buffy and Willow, and most of all the coldness he had seen in Ginny's eyes that night... he had read these things wrong before. He hoped he was wrong this time. More than ever, he needed to talk to Hermione. 

When he awoke the next morning Harry was surprised to discover Ron had already left the tower. He wandered down to the common room and found Hermione waiting for him, holding out a few pieces of toast. "Ron's left already, with Dean and Seamus," she said, unable to meet his eyes. "I thought we could go to Hogsmeade together. I wouldn't bother, but Christmas is coming up and I still need to buy gifts for everyone." 

Harry nodded his agreement and took the toast from her gratefully. The moment they left the castle grounds, Harry slowed down and caught his friend's eye. "We need to talk," he said quietly. "I spoke to Ginny last night." 

A surprised look flitted across Hermione's face. "So did I," she admitted. "Did you... argue? Because all she would say was that she wanted nothing to do with us, and to leave her alone." 

"We argued," he said, his eyes firmly on the light dusting of snow on the road. "I'm almost glad Ron decided to go on ahead. I needed to speak to you alone. After the way he reacted last night... he wouldn't like what I've got to say." 

"Well go on then," Hermione encouraged. 

"I told her I'd heard what she'd said to Malfoy, and she, well, let's just say shouting was a big theme. I guess we were both pretty angry. But the important part was, she said that she is talking to Malfoy, telling him things. Because she can't tell us. Apparently, we treat her like a child and we've never been her friends, so she's betraying us altogether," he said, shoving his clenched fists deep into the pockets of his cloak. 

Hermione shook her head in disbelief. "She actually _said_ that? That she was betraying us?" 

Harry rolled his eyes at her. "Of course she didn't say that. But she more or less admitted it." 

"Well which was it? More, or less? Harry, these are serious accusations. We can't just run around telling people Ginny's some kind of traitor without evidence." 

Harry sighed. "I know that. That's why I'm only telling _you._ You had to have been there, to have seen the look in her eyes. It was so..." 

"Cold," Hermione said. "Like ice. And hard, determined. I saw her last night, remember? I waited up for her, outside the door to her room, and she was so upset. I tried to comfort her, you know? But she pushed me away and told me to leave off, only not in those words, mind you, and her eyes... Harry, she looked like she hated me!" 

Harry bit his lip. "That's just the thing, it's not like Ginny to act like that, is it? She's got a temper all right, but she's never been mean before. Something's going on with her, and I'd bet my Firebolt it's got to do with Malfoy and what happened on Halloween. She's been... different since then. Surely you've noticed." 

Hermione's eyes flew to his, filled with fear and horror. "Oh Harry, you don't think..." Her voice dropped to a whisper and they stopped walking altogether. They had just reached the edge of Hogsmeade, and other students filed past them, eager to spend a day in the village. "Imperius?" 

Harry swallowed hard and nodded. "Something like that." He looked around, noting the groups of students and teachers surrounding them. "We'll talk later. There's more I need to tell you. And Hermione, I don't think Ron should know." 

"What shouldn't I know?" Ron asked from behind them. Harry spun around to stare guiltily at his friend. Ron grinned at them. 

Harry started. "Er, the surprise I'm planning for Christmas," was all he could think of. 

"Well come on then," Ron said, his bad mood of the night before apparently forgotten. "The village is all decked out for Christmas. Honeydukes has some excellent new flavors of sugarquills in, and Zonko's has just started carrying Weasley Wizard Wheezes products!" 

Harry and Hermione followed Ron through the village. Harry tried to put his fight with Ginny behind him and just enjoy this day with his friends. The village looked like a wonderland. The shops were decorated with everything from enchanted icicles that never melted to fairy lights to ten-foot tall Christmas trees. Harry bought gifts for his friends and had a fine time hiding them from Ron, who was forever trying to take a peek inside his bags. At Zonko's Harry bought several Weasley products, including a set of Extendable Ears and a Skiving Snackbox, just in case he ever felt the need to leave Potions class a bit early. Upon reflection, he thought as he paid for his purchases, he felt that need almost every lesson. But maybe he could sneak a bit of nosebleed nougat into Draco Malfoy's evening pumpkin juice... 

The day ended with the three of them stopping by the Three Broomsticks for a butterbeer. Half the school was there, including most of the professors. Professor McGonagall sat in the corner with Flitwick and Snape, her cheeks rosy. Harry wondered briefly if his Head of House had had a bit too much too drink when she began giggling uncontrollably at something Snape had said. Madam Rosmerta was busy filling orders and chatting with her customers, so Harry, Hermione, and Ron found a small table near the back of the room and squeezed around it to wait for the crowd at the bar to thin. The pub itself was decorated in full force with several trees scattered about, boughs of holly gracing the stair to the upper level, and all manner of owl sporting bells and wreaths perched among the rafters of the high ceiling. Harry saw Hagrid sitting at a table with Buffy and Willow and waved at him. 

Hagrid raised his tankard to Harry and took a large swallow of his drink before standing up to say hello. To Harry's surprise, Buffy and Willow followed him over, and he spent an uncomfortable moment staring at them, wondering if they were in on the plot to turn Ginny against her friends and family. "Hello there, Harry!" Hagrid boomed, patting Harry on the back none too gently. Harry winced but gave the man a welcoming smile. "Hermione, Ron," Hagrid acknowledged. "Haven't seen you three much this term outside o' lessons. Been a bit busy, have yeh?" 

"Sorry about that," Harry said. "Quidditch, and er, you know." 

"I've bin hearin' things," Hagrid said with a wink. "More'n Quidditch goin' on up at the school. Still, yeh always make it to my class. Can't complain now, can I?" 

"I'm so sorry, Hagrid," Hermione said. "We could have tea. Tomorrow?" 

"Now there, Hermione. Don't go beatin' yerself up about it. Tea it is!" 

Buffy and Willow watched the exchange with smiles. After a few minutes of chatting, Hagrid, who was more willing to brave the crowds, left to get the three of them drinks. Buffy and Willow looked at each other, then pulled up chairs to their already cramped table. Ron was sitting next to Buffy now, and Harry noticed his friend's ears were bright red. Harry repressed a smile. If he wasn't much mistaken, Ron had a crush on their professor. 

Buffy leaned in conspiratorially. "We had to talk to you guys in private, where no one could overhear us," she said in a low whisper. Harry had to lean across the table to hear her. "Professor Dumbledore thinks you're in some kind of danger. Nothing we can't handle. That's why he wants you guys to spend Christmas with us." 

Hermione shook her head. "No, I've got to go home to my parents. They want me home this Christmas." 

Harry knew Hermione wanted to be there to protect them if she needed to. "What kind of danger?" he asked. "Why can't we just stay at Hogwarts? It's the safest place in Britain." 

"Duh. Because every beastie from here to Bangladesh will know you're at Hogwarts. It's not exactly a big secret where you are most of the time," Buffy replied. 

"Bangladesh?" Willow asked, giving Buffy a doubtful look. 

"Well, you know, it's far away. It's still far away, right? Geography was never my cup of tea. In fact, I don't even like tea. I prefer coffee, or if I'm feeling really risky, a diet soda." 

"Why do I have to go, then?" Ron interrupted. "Mum and Dad wanted to have a family Christmas, for once. Bill and Charlie are supposed to be coming and everything!" 

"That's a cover up," Willow whispered. "Your brothers never really planned to come home. Your parents have been planning to send you and Ginny away all along." 

"But why?" Hermione asked. "Harry's _always_ in danger. It's not as if this is exactly new. Why does it matter where he goes? Won't it just follow him?" 

"If _he_ was the one in danger, then that might matter," Buffy said dryly. "We can't explain right now. You'll just have to trust us. And anyway, it's pointless to argue. No points for Hermione," Buffy quipped, smiling at her own joke. 

"A-and it'll be fun!" Willow tried to be cheerful. "We can do stuff. You know, non-school stuff. Watch movies, play board games. Oh! We can watch "A Charlie Brown Christmas"! I can teach you all the Snoopy dance!" 

Harry smiled a little at that. It didn't much matter to him where he spent Christmas. Hermione shook her head again. "I told you, I've got to go home this year. I'll speak to Dumbledore about it. Maybe something can be arranged? Wards, or a protection spell?" 

Buffy stood and patted Hermione on the shoulder. "You want to see your family. I get that. I really do. Just keep in mind that it might not be safe for _them_ to be around _you._" 

Willow stood to go as well, but Hermione stopped them with a pleading look. "They're Muggles," she said. "If I don't protect them, who will?" 

Willow smiled sympathetically. "We'll figure it out. Meet me after class on Thursday. Maybe we can work out some wards for the house, some kind of protection spell." 

Hagrid came back with their drinks just then, and the Defense professors left. Harry noticed that they stopped by another table on their way out to talk to another student--Ginny. To his relief, Ginny was sitting with Colin and Luna. What did he expect, that she'd be sitting with Malfoy, flaunting their newfound relationship, whatever it was? Of course not. She'd have to keep it quiet, and so would he, else their Houses would think them traitors. Which they were, Harry reminded himself bitterly. 

"What do you reckon Buffy was all about?" Ron asked later, on their walk back to the castle. 

Hermione and Harry exchanged a glance. Harry knew Hermione was thinking the same thing--did this have anything to do with Ginny? Could it be possible that Dumbledore knew something wasn't right with her, or were the Defense professors leading the headmaster astray somehow? 

Hermione shrugged after a long moment of silence. "Can't be sure, but there's absolutely no way I'm leaving Mum and Dad alone this Christmas. If something's going to happen, I need to be there to protect them." 

"Maybe Dumbledore can get a couple of Aurors to protect them. Or members of the Order," Ron suggested. "We could all go to Grimmauld Place, like last year. It's unplottable and hidden by the Fidelius Charm." 

Harry stared at the snow-covered path and tried not to think of last year. Sirius had been so happy then, singing and going out of his way to make it a good time. But Harry had spent most of the holiday thinking he'd been possessed by Voldemort. And all Sirius's efforts had been wasted, because he'd been too selfish to consider others... 

"I doubt it," Hermione said, interrupting his thoughts. "The Aurors are out of their minds with work as it is, and the Order... well who knows what they get up to, but it's more important than protecting a couple of Muggles." Hermione's voice was grim and determined. "I have to do it." 

"Still, I wouldn't mind seeing some, what do you call them, voo-mies?" Ron said. "What is a voo-mie, anyway?" 

"Honestly, Ron. You should've taken Muggle Studies. You're hopeless!" Hermione said with a small smile. 

Harry laughed. "It's a movie, only that's an American term, actually. It's a film. They have cameras that take moving pictures, and they can speak and things, and they act out a story," he explained. 

"Mad. Muggles are absolutely mad. And what's a board game?" 

Harry explained monopoly and scrabble to Ron while they ate dinner in the Great Hall. Ron shook his head and muttered an occasional comment, sounding more like his father than he perhaps would have liked. After dinner Harry and Hermione headed to the second floor girl's bathroom, which they were once again using to brew their secret potions. Their projects weren't precisely illegal this time, but Harry doubted Snape would appreciate his two least favorite students hanging about in his lab. He'd be suspicious as well. Neither Harry nor Hermione had ever done special projects, and besides, Harry thought to himself as he set up his cauldron in an empty stall, Snape was suspicious of anything Harry did. He didn't need an excuse to take points from Gryffindor. Harry's existence seemed to be reason enough. 

Harry and Hermione worked in silence. Harry found he'd come to enjoy these times. Making potions--without Snape glaring at him from across the room, that was--could be quite relaxing and allowed him to clear his mind. Harry wondered if this was what had attracted Snape to potion making. 

"Hand me the boomslang skin," Hermione said, stirring her potion carefully. Harry watched as Hermione carefully shredded it and added it to her potion. She stirred it counter clockwise three times with precise, careful movements, then prodded the fire beneath her cauldron with her wand, causing the flames to die out. "There," she said, taking a step back from it. "That's it then. I hope it works. I don't fancy trying to get more of that acromantula hair." 

"It'll work" Harry said, concentrating on his own mixture now, the Accelero Potion. When taken properly, it should give the drinker added speed and agility. Its use was strictly regulated among the Quidditch world--all the professional teams tested their players for it, because it unfairly enhanced a player's skills. He finished stirring and took a step back from his cauldron. "There, that's all I can do tonight. Anyway, Hermione," he said as they began packing up their things, "your potions always work. It's mine you should be worried about." 

"Still, we'll need to test it. Maybe at the meeting next week?" she suggested. 

"That's fine. We won't be doing much anyway, as it's our last meeting before the holiday. And we've got that Potions test the next day as well." Harry grimaced at the thought. He needed to work on his memory potion if he wanted to pass Snape's class this term. 

"Speaking of which, I need to add the mugwort to my Subconscious Serum. Want to come along to the dungeons?" 

Harry shrugged. They headed toward the dungeons in silence. It was not quite curfew yet, but neither of them doubted that, should Filch or Snape himself catch them out this close to it, they'd get in some sort of trouble. Just as they reached the last step heading down to the lab, Hermione grabbed Harry's arm and pulled him against the wall. Her eyes were wide as she stared into the dim corridor in front of them. 

"...can't keep happening," he heard a voice saying from inside one of the unused classrooms. "The strain alone is enough to make you a candidate in the Miss Lunatic Pageant!" 

"Buffy," Hermione whispered to him. "Who else talks like that?" 

"Why would the Council call on them?" another voice asked. Harry strained his ears to hear more. "There's nothing for it..." he made out. "...keep on coming, but I'll just keep on killing them!" Harry heard Hermione gasp in shock. Harry felt a tremor go through him--who were they planning on killing? 

"Did you hear that?" Buffy asked. 

Just then Willow's head popped out from the doorway of the classroom. Her eyes swept the area, lighting on the two of them. Harry didn't think she could really see them. "Who's there?" she asked. "Go back to your common room, whoever you are. Curfew's in ten minutes." 

Harry pulled Hermione up the stair and out of sight. They practically ran through the corridors to the seventh floor, where Harry gasped the password at the Fat Lady's portrait. They scrambled through the entrance and shut the door, then simply stood and stared at each other, neither knowing what to say. Finally, Hermione broke the shocked silence between them. 

"Well, we knew they were pretty dodgy. Still, it could be some sort of Slayer thing. She mentioned the Council again, the Council sending someone." 

"Or some_thing,_" Harry said with a shudder. "You've heard her stories, you know the kinds of things Buffy fights. What if the Council's trying to kill her or something, for going against them?" 

Hermione shook her head. "They wouldn't. They're the good guys, remember? Ugh. I've got to work on my Potions essay. I don't have time for this!" 

Harry tried to follow Hermione's lead and work on his essay, but his mind refused to focus on the properties of rosemary and cloves. Instead the events of that weekend swirled in his head. He stared into the fire as he remembered everything that had happened. He was confused and worried and so, so tired... 

He was in the club again, on the second level this time, staring down from a balcony at the dancers below. Sirius stood next to him, leaning against the banister with his back to the dancers. "Back again, then?" he said with a smile. 

Harry nodded absently. "Can't seem to stay away," he explained. He gave the other boy a glare. "No offense to you, but these dreams aren't exactly my idea of fun. I wish you'd tell me what this is all about and stop being so bloody cryptic all the time." 

Sirius flashed a brilliant smile at him. "Where's the fun in that?" he asked. "Then you'd know everything and we'd have to stop having these little chats of ours. Besides," he said, lifting his glass in a salute to Harry, "I quite enjoy the drinks. They're free, you know." 

"Can't you be serious, for once?" Harry said, turning away from him to look down at the dancers. 

"I'm always Sirius," Sirius said, grinning at his own bad joke. 

Harry wrinkled his nose. "That's awful You were never this annoying in life, you know. So what's the message this time? Let me guess--'You have to know what to see'?" 

"Something quite different, actually. A great man once said, 'And since you know you cannot see yourself, so well as by reflection, I, your glass, will modestly discover to yourself, that of yourself which you yet know not of.'" 

"Sounds like a great prat to me," Harry said. 

"Shakespeare, actually. But all the same... I'm here to show you what you refuse to see." He motioned to the dancers below, and the world blurred around the edges, until the only person Harry could see clearly was Ginny, standing alone among the dancers. She was staring at someone across the room, someone Harry couldn't quite make out, but she didn't move, although her face reflected a desire and need so painfully obvious that Harry winced to see it. 

"And oftentimes, to win us to our harm, the instruments of darkness tell us truths, win us with honest trifles, to betray's in deepest consequence." Harry heard Sirius's voice as if from afar. Watching Ginny in pain was like watching a train wreck--terrible and brutal, and yet he couldn't look away. She turned in slow circles on the dance floor, arms wrapped around herself as the music flowed over and around her in a blue haze. It was strange, Harry thought, that he could see the music, but then these dreams always were. 

Ginny stopped spinning as the music reached a higher pitch, raising her face to look up at him now, as if she'd known all along he'd been watching her. Her eyes seemed to be speaking the lyrics directly to him; Harry heard them in his mind, felt them wrap around him now in blue and violet tendrils, even when she looked away. 

_Under blue moon I saw yo., So soon you'll take me up in your arms too late to beg you or cancel it though I know it must be the killing time --unwillingly mine. Fate, up against your will through the thick and thin, he will wait until you give yourself to him... _

Harry felt Sirius take his hand in an icy grasp and suddenly they were on the dance floor with Ginny. Sirius dropped Harry's hand and moved to stand behind her. His dark eyes blazed at Harry from over Ginny's head. Harry knew Sirius was trying to tell him something, but couldn't quite figure out what... 

_In starlit nights I saw you. So cruelly you kissed me. Your lips a magic world, your sky all hung with jewels--the killing moon will come too soon._

"You have to know what to see," Sirius said. As he had once before, he began to transform. His hair lengthened and lightened from pitch black to silvery blonde, his facial bones shifted and sharpened, becoming the pointed face of Draco Malfoy. Cold silver eyes stared at him from behind Ginny. Ginny gazed at him unseeingly, her dark eyes blank and unfocused. Malfoy wrapped his arm around Ginny, pulling her against him. His other hand, pale and spider-like, snaked into her hair and wrapped the red strands tight around it. 

"What do you see?" Malfoy asked. His face changed again, becoming ridged and hard, brilliant white teeth lengthening into sharp fangs. With a sudden snarl he sank his teeth into Ginny, who stood still without struggle, although her eyes reflected her horror and pain as the life drained out of her. And his eyes... Harry found himself drowning in those pools of molten silver, now slightly tinged with the red of Ginny's blood. He wanted to scream, to leap forward and stop him, but he was frozen in place. All he could do was watch. 

Harry jerked awake suddenly to find himself slumped over on his Potions essay. He sat up quickly, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "Bad dream?" Hermione asked from across the table, her dark eyes reflecting her concern. 

"Yeah," Harry replied. His brain felt heavy and water-laden. The dream had been important, he knew. Another message from Sirius, but somehow he couldn't recall the details, only blurred images and vague ideas. Sirius had been there, of course, saying things that made very little sense to him, no doubt. And Ginny... she had been there, and a vampire? 

"Voldemort?" Hermione asked bluntly, her quill still scratching at her parchment. 

"What? No. No, I've been having these weird dreams about Sirius." 

Hermione paused in her writing. She didn't look at him, but lay her quill down. "What are they about? The... the place... the Department of Mysteries?" 

"No." Harry shook his head. "You'll laugh if I tell you." 

"Go on then," she said with a smile. "I could use a good laugh." 

"All right. Well, I can't remember much. But I'm in this club, and there's music. Sirius is there, only he's young, right? And he says a load of cryptic things I can never really remember afterward, and sips fizzy drinks." 

Hermione laughed. "Well, it's not as dire as I had supposed then. Fizzy drinks?" 

Harry shrugged. "He's says they're free." 

"Well, speaking of dreams you can't remember, maybe you should get to work on your Potions essay. We're testing our Subconscious Serums next week, you know. Snape will be furious if yours isn't absolutely perfect," she said, turning back to her own essay. 

Harry set himself to his essay, trying to drown out the sounds of his fellow Gryffindors playing a raucous game of Wizard Charades. Parvati was attempting an impersonation of Professor Dumbledore, but giggling too much to really get her point across. Harry turned resolutely to his essay. 

_Clove is especially helpful in recalling prophetic dreams and has even been known to induce visions when properly mixed with mugwort and rosemary..._

After several minutes of reading his notes, cross-referencing his library books with his Potions texts, and painstakingly copying down bits of information that he thought might make his essay better, Harry lay down his quill and sat back in his chair with a tired sigh. Just as he was about to tell Hermione he was going up to bed for the night, the portrait hole opened, catching his eye. Ginny snuck through, almost entirely unnoticed by the occupants of the common room because of the loud games going on, but Harry and Hermione both saw her. It was long after curfew, Harry noted, and once again she looked dirty and worn out. Her robes were disheveled as if she'd pulled them on rather haphazardly, and beneath them Harry could see she wore jeans. He watched her creep past the group of Gryffindors in the common room. Just as she started up the stair to her dormitory, her robes caught on the bannister, revealing more of her jeans, which seem to be covered in patches of...slime? 

"What's she been up to?" Hermione asked, her nose wrinkled. "Looks as if she's been crawling about the sewers or something." 

Harry's mouth pressed into a thin line. "That, or sneaking into Hogsmeade through the Honeydukes passage." 

Hermione's eyes widened in sudden understanding. "She wasn't sneaking out, Harry. She was sneaking back _in._ My guess is she never left Hogsmeade with the rest of us." 

"But what does that mean?" he asked. 

"I don't know," she murmured, staring at the stairway Ginny had disappeared into, her forehead marred with worry lines. "I just don't know." 

The next week went by in a haze, and before he knew it, Harry found himself in the Potions dungeon on Thursday, waiting nervously for the lesson to begin. His Subconscious Serum bubbled in front of him in his cauldron, complete now that he'd added the final infusion of mugwort. He glanced at Hermione's potion, trying to gauge whether his looked enough like hers to be good enough for an inspection by Snape. Both potions were clear as water, but thick and gelatinous, with a faint haze misting over them. Harry couldn't see a difference between them, but then Snape always found something wrong with his potions, regardless of how perfect they seemed to Harry. 

The class was unusually quiet as they waited for Snape to arrive. Draco Malfoy, seated at the desk to the left of Harry one row ahead of him, looked confident and arrogant as ever. His potion looked exactly like Hermione's as well, but then Snape had always favored him. Harry gave the other boy's back a healthy glare. Malfoy undoubtedly knew that regardless of his potion's effectiveness he'd receive a passing grade. Ever since he'd seen Ginny with Malfoy, Harry had found that he'd felt supremely uncomfortable in his presence, rather than the loathing and anger he was used to feeling toward the other boy. In the back of his mind, Harry wondered what things Ginny had told Malfoy about him. Did Malfoy now know that Harry had slept in a cupboard for eleven years of his life? Did he know about the Dursleys, and Sirius, and everything else? For some reason, Harry didn't want Malfoy knowing those kinds of things about him. They were too personal, too private for someone like Malfoy to know. 

Just then Snape stalked into the room with a dramatic swirl of black cloak, slamming the door behind him with a loud bang. Harry jumped a little--he couldn't help it. The preparation for this potion had kept him on edge for the past two weeks, knowing that it would determine whether or not he stayed in the class. Ron gave him an encouraging smile--Harry could tell his friend was equally nervous about his own potion. 

"Settle down," Snape said, although there was hardly a need. With only ten students left in the class, and all of them nervously regarding their potions, the dungeon was so quiet that Harry could hear the steady dripping of the leaky ceiling. "Has everyone prepared their Subconscious Serums for today?" His lip curled as he glared around at them. No one made a sound, which was just the way Snape seemed to like it. 

Snape set them up in pairs to test their potions, and skulked about the dungeon observing and making his usual caustic comments. Harry, who was paired with Dean, watched nervously as the other boy ladled a sample of his potion into a vial for Harry to try. Just as Harry was about to swallow down the strange looking stuff, Snape appeared at his side. 

"I don't think so, Potter," he said, taking the vial from Harry. 

Harry looked at the Potions master in surprise. Was this some new form of ridicule, not letting him test a potentially dangerous potion? If so, it was fairly abstract as punishments went... 

Snape saw his questioning look. "Thomas," he said, "your potions work has been dreadful this term. I'd fear for Potter's life letting him drink this swill; that is, if I cared enough about it. As it is, I don't think the Headmaster would appreciate having his _pet_ student killed in my class. Granger," he called out to Hermione, "come here, if you please." 

"Yes professor?" Hermione asked, leaving Ron, who was babbling about spiders the size of trucks, a Quick-Notes Quill scribbling furiously on the desk beside him to take it all down. 

"I need you to test Thomas's potion," Snape said, handing the vial to her, apparently unconcerned for Hermione's safety. She swallowed the contents and immediately began spouting off about her latest dream, something about Crookshanks turning into Professor McGonagall and joining the Ice Capades. 

Snape sneered. "I suppose your work may have improved somewhat, Thomas. Now, Potter. I am eager to see whether you'll be leaving us next term," he said with an eager glint in his eye. 

Harry handed Dean a sample of his own potion and waited nervously to see if it would work. Harry heard Dean's latest dreams with a sigh of relief, thinking that Snape couldn't possibly chuck him out after his Subconscious Serum had worked so well! 

"Very well, Potter," Snape said, clearly disappointed. He gave Harry a shrewd look. "You've succeeded at something in my class, _finally._ Perhaps our cozy little tutoring session can end _at last_? I will see you on Monday. We can discuss your future in this class then." 

"Yes, Professor," Harry said. He watched Snape walk away, amazed. Had his most hated professor actually paid him a compliment? As Harry bottled up his potion for Snape to grade and began cleaning out his cauldron, he played the encounter over in his head. He was glad that he probably wouldn't be kicked out of class, and Snape even seemed to be saying that their Occlumency lessons could end as well. The real question was, why had Snape prevented him from testing Dean's potion? What was he afraid of? 

Against his better judgment, Harry decided to stay after class and ask Snape about the incident. Harry waited until the dungeon had mostly cleared out before approaching him. "Er, Professor?" Harry said, interrupting Snape, who was methodically labeling the class's samples of potion. 

"What is it, Potter?" Snape asked irritably. "Don't we spend enough time together as it is?" 

Harry flushed with anger, but tamped it down quickly. Snape was _trying_ to get to him--he always did. "Quite right, sir," Harry said. "Erm, I was just wondering, why did you prevent me from taking the Subconscious Serum?" 

"I told you," Snape said, concentrating hard on his labeling, "I'd rather you not be poisoned." 

"Sir? We both know that wasn't it," Harry said bluntly. 

Snape lay down the vial he was labeling and glared up at Harry. "If you had a brain to think with, boy, you'd know the answer without having to ask. I've seen some of the things you dream about, you idiot. I can't have you spouting off about your visions of the Dark Lord in the middle of class!" 

Harry felt like a fool. "Oh, right," he mumbled, turning to go. He left the dungeon in a daze, and was surprised when he collided with somebody running in the opposite direction. 

"Umph," Ginny said from the ground. She glared at Harry as she stood up, straightening her robes. "Honestly Harry, do you _ever_ watch where you're going?" 

Harry narrowed his eyes at her. "What are you doing down here? You don't have Potions now." 

Ginny made a face at him. "Stalking, much? I'm working on a special project for Snape, and anyway it's none of your business where I go." She stalked past him toward the dungeon he'd just left. 

Harry shook his head and started walking, but Ginny's voice stopped him short. "I wouldn't go that way, Harry. Someone's let off a load of garroting gas just down that corridor." Harry shrugged and kept walking. "Fine with me if you want to be turned inside out!" she called after him. 

Harry frowned and walked away, ignoring her. She had just come from this direction--she had to be lying. The corridor looked completely empty to him, and aside from the rather larger than usual amount of slime dripping down the walls, he couldn't see anything wrong with it. 

As he made his way toward the Defense classroom for his next lesson, he gave up trying to figure Ginny out. She had been normal and so cheerful during the first two months of school, and then suddenly, directly after Halloween, she'd changed, becoming secretive and sneaky, lying at every turn and hurting Hermione by telling her to leave her alone, hurting him... 

Harry entered the Defense classroom to find most of the class already assembled, chatting excitedly about the upcoming holiday. Harry sat down next to Ron and Hermione, asking, "What's going on? It is Thursday, isn't it? Where's Willow?" 

"She couldn't make it," Ron said, doodling happily on a corner of his class notes. "So Buffy's taking over today. Honestly, I'm glad of it. I quite prefer her lessons to failing miserably at wandless magic." 

"What are these desks doing here, then?" Harry asked. "Shouldn't we be moving them out of the way?" 

Hermione shook her head. "Buffy said not to. She said we're doing something special today. Oh, look. I think we're starting." 

Buffy emerged from her office and began pacing in front of them, biting her lip nervously as if she couldn't quite figure out how to begin. 

"Okay, you guys have to promise me you're not going to freak. Parvati, that means you," she said, giving the girl a hard look. Parvati had been notoriously squeamish during Buffy's lessons, shrieking at every little thing. The girl blushed furiously and stared at the floor. "But seriously, this isn't a big deal. One of my... friends is here, and I thought he'd make a good lesson." 

Harry and Ron exchanged confused glances. Why would one of Buffy's friends constitute a lesson? 

"He's a vampire," she said bluntly at their confused expressions. 

"Er, Buffy?" Hermione asked, hand in the air, "Why are you friends with a vampire? I thought you were supposed to, you know, _kill_ them?" 

"Yeah, that's my gig," she said, "but there are exceptions. This vampire, he's different. He has a soul. Went through a bunch of demon trials to get it back and everything, and now he's all with the soul having. And he has a chip." 

"A chip?" Padma Patil asked. 

"Yeah, it's like a computer whats-it in his head that won't let him bite things. Well, nothing in the 'not a demon' category anyway. The government... oh forget it, it's a long story. Come to think of it, most stories involving the United States government tend to be long, boring, and completely wiggy. The point is, he can't bite you, and he wouldn't if he could, so no wands, and no fire!" she warned them. Then she walked to the door leading to her office and opened it. 

A man walked out, tall and so violently blonde that Harry was sure he must dye his hair. A cigarette smoked in his pale, pale fingers and he took a long drag on it before giving a less than enthusiastic wave to the class. At Buffy's pointed glare he tossed the cigarette to the stone flagging and snuffed it beneath his boot. 

Buffy glowered at him before turning to the class. "This is Spike. Spike, this is my sixth year class. Now play nice, and tell them about being a vampire," she ordered. 

He frowned at her. "You know, at least when Giles asks me to do things, he always says please, and then afterwards, if I've done well, I get a cookie," he said. Harry couldn't tell if Spike was joking or not, but decided he must be. 

Buffy frowned again, but seemed to be covering up a smile. "Talk!" she ordered. 

"Well that was certainly... informative," Hermione said dazedly as they made their way to the Great Hall for dinner. Spike had just finished telling them a series of gruesome and horrifying tales about his life as a vampire, the demons he'd worked against but more oftentimes with, the Slayers he'd fought, the Slayers he'd killed... 

"To quote Buffy," Ron said, "I know you meant to say gross and disturbing!" 

"Oh, yes, that too," Hermione said in a strange, breathy sort of voice. They reached the Great Hall and took seats at the Gryffindor table, Ron giving Hermione a knowing look with narrowed eyes the entire time. 

"You fancy him!" Ron declared, clearly offended by the idea. 

Hermione blushed. "Pass the roast beef, please," she said. 

As Ron began listing all the reasons why it was a bad idea to fancy a vampire and especially Spike, Harry bolted his dinner in record time and left the hall as quickly as he could, muttering something about needing to do some research for their Defense essay due on Monday. He hated listening to Ron and Hermione argue all the time. Over the summer, when Ron had been complaining about Hermione not writing to them, Ginny had made a comment that had Harry rolling on the floor with laughter. Her eyes twinkling, she'd said, "For Merlin's sake, Ron. You have the emotional maturity of a blueberry scone! She's perfect for you. Just have at it, would you, and stop fluttering about!" 

Thinking about Ginny made him frown even more. _Why_ was she being like this? She was right, Harry was desperate to know what had happened to her in the forest on Halloween. Because whatever it was had changed her into someone Harry didn't recognize, someone Harry didn't even think he cared to know. 

With a sigh Harry pushed open the doors to the library and threw his things onto an empty table. He glanced at his essay topic, wondering briefly what Snape would think of it _("Werewolves are people, too--discuss")._ With another long sigh Harry wandered off into the Dark Creatures section of the stacks, lost in thought.

* * *

**Author notes:** Coming up next chapter... Harry pulls a prank on the Slytherins, Hermione is disobedient, Giles stutters and cleans his glasses, and Dawn annoys everyone.  
  
References:  
"Fear no more the heat o' the sun, nor the furious winter's rages" -something Shakespeare  
"I will burn for you..." lyrics from "#1 Crush" by Garbage  
"Moments like this are buds on the tree of life, flowers of darkness they are..." from Mrs. Dalloway, by Virginia Woolf  
"When sorrows come, they come not in single spies, but in battalions..." -Shakespeare  
"Harry, I know you feel betrayed."  
"Yes, well, that's one of the unpleasant side effects of betrayal," -from "Passion" (BTVS)  
Lyrics in dream #2 from "The Killing Moon" by Echo and the Bunnymen  
"You know, at least when Giles asks me to do things, he always says please, and then afterwards, if I've done well, I get a cookie." from BTVS


	8. Possession and Providence

Chapter 8: Possession and Providence

_"I'm sorry, but let's not forget that I hated Angel long before you guys jumped on the bandwagon. So I think I deserve a little something for not saying 'I told you so' long before now. And if Giles wants to go after the, uh, fiend that murdered his girlfriend, I say, 'Faster, Pussycat! Kill! Kill!'" -Xander, "Passion"_

Harry's head was so full of thoughts for the rest of the week that he had difficulty managing much of anything, despite Hermione's dire predictions that he would lose points or get detention if he didn't work on the essays they had due for Charms and History of Magic. Then something happened Monday that pushed everything else out of his mind.

He and Snape had their final Occlumency lesson that evening, or so Harry hoped. He approached Snape's office door with a mixture of trepidation and optimism, allowing himself to believe that perhaps this might be the last time he would have to suffer Snape attempting to break through his barriers and sneak looks at his worst memories. He knocked on the door and entered at Snape's irritated "Come in!"

"I've spoken with the Headmaster," Snape began without preamble. "I will judge how well you've improved after this lesson, and then we will speak with him directly afterwards. With that in mind Potter, I _do_ hope to see some significant progress this week." His lip curled as he glared at Harry. "I'd rather not see that cousin of yours even once more. Vile, disgusting creature."

Harry thought it might be the first time he and Snape had ever agreed. "Yes, Professor," he said, preparing himself for the lesson. Snape stood and walked around his desk to face Harry.

_"Legilemens!"_ Snape shouted. Harry could feel the professor trying to force his way into his mind, to break down the barriers he had erected. Over the past few months, spurred more by a desire to keep Snape out of his head than anything else, Harry had put a lot of effort into his Occlumency studies. He could keep Snape out for several minutes at a time now, if he concentrated properly.

Harry focused all his energy on Snape, trying to keep the man in his sight. He found if he could _see_ his professor, he had an easier time defending himself. Lately he had begun to improve in controlling his reactions as well; it had been weeks since he had reflexively hexed Snape to escape his probing, although sometimes he hexed him just for the fun of it. After a few minutes of intense concentration, though, Harry could feel his barriers begin to waver until finally, with an intense glare from Snape, they exploded and Harry found himself in a dark club, the club from his dreams. This had never happened before; it was usually memories from childhood or, more often, reliving that night at the Department of Mysteries. For a moment Harry felt excitement well up inside him--perhaps now he'd finally be able to understand what Sirius was trying to tell him!

Sirius stood next to him on a balcony high above the dancers, sipping a fizzy drink contentedly. "Back again, then?" Sirius asked. Before Harry could see what happened next, the vision lifted as suddenly as it had come, leaving him gasping and confused.

Snape stared at him, one eyebrow raised. "I don't know what's worse," he commented, "witnessing all those pathetic scenes from your childhood, or having to see _him_ again."

Harry could barely tame the anger that roared to life inside him at Snape's words. "Don't talk about him!" he said, glaring furiously. "You don't deserve--"

"I would not finish that sentence if I were you, Potter!" Snape spat. "Let's forget it, shall we? _Legilimens___

Unprepared for the sudden attack, Harry immediately found himself back in the club, but the images were rushing past him now like a too-fast slide show, so that he could only catch brief snippets of them.

"...fear no more the heat o' the sun..."

"...I'm _always _Sirius..."

"...love is blood, screaming inside to work its will..."

And suddenly a strange feeling came over him, one he had felt only once before, in the Ministry of Magic, when Voldemort had tried to possess him. His vision went dark and blank but his body felt hot and tingly. His arms moved of their own volition, wrenching painfully as his body attempted to fight off the power that flooded him. _"Finite_ _Incantatum_ he heard his own voice yell as his mouth moved against his will.

Harry couldn't see, could barely hear as his body attempted to eject the force that had invaded him. It was painful, but not nearly so much as when Voldemort had possessed him. Because of that he didn't think it was Voldemort this time, but he didn't want _anyone_ trying to possess him! He fought hard, forcing all his will against the presence. Dimly he heard himself speaking, but barely registered the words as he tried to shove the invader out of him.

"Snivellus," he heard himself say with a kind of savage delight.

"Black," he heard Snape's angry, confused voice as if from far away, "you're meant to be dead!"

"I may be dead, but at least I'm still pretty, which is more than I can say for you. Honestly, Snivellus. There's this new-fangled invention we call soap. You might want to try it sometime."

"You fool! You could damage the boy! What possible reason could you have...?"

Harry felt himself growing weaker and weaker. The voices faded, becoming softer until he found himself stuck in a sort of nothingness, a void of black. Time seemed to stretch for days, years, but he couldn't really feel it, just knew that somewhere, life continued as normal, but he was no longer a part of it. He was reminded of something, from a dream perhaps..._time split its husk_. He began to lose a sense of himself, began to forget things. He forgot his name, where he was, what he was, and found he quite enjoyed it. He rested, his mind blank as he soaked in the void, content...

With a wrenching shock he slammed back into his body suddenly and painfully. His vision flooded with a violent clash of light and color as the world popped back into view. He lay on the cold stone floor of Snape's office. Snape himself knelt beside Harry, staring down at him with a look of concern on his pale, thin face. "Potter!" Snape's harsh voice sounded in his ears. "Are you in there?"

Harry blinked and tried to organize his thoughts. What did Snape mean, was he in there? In where? He couldn't remember what had happened, only that one minute he'd been having an Occlumency lesson and the next we was lying on the cold floor. "Er..." Harry said finally, too confused to answer properly, not really knowing what the proper answer would even be.

Snape stood up. "Yes, I can tell that's you. Never can answer a question without stumbling through it. Get up, boy. We're going to see the headmaster now."

Harry stood up slowly, surprised to find that his muscles ached in protest. "Is the lesson over already?" he asked, following Snape out of the office. Snape didn't bother to answer. "Sir?"

"Never mind that now, Potter, just hurry up," Snape replied. Harry was even more confused by the utter lack of emotion in the man's voice. Usually Snape only spoke to Harry to insult him, and his tone never failed to be sneering or scathing. Harry followed at Snape's heels, lost in thought. He felt as if he'd missed something very important, that time had somehow shot forward without him.

They arrived at the gargoyle that guarded the entrance to Dumbledore's office, slightly out of breath from having walked so far so quickly. "Acid Pop," Snape said, giving the password to the statue. It obligingly leapt aside to reveal a revolving spiral staircase. They stepped on and it carried them to the inner door of Dumbledore's office, upon which Snape knocked three times, hard.

After a few brief moments the door swung open and Professor Dumbledore stood before them, smiling expectantly. "Ah, Severus. I trust you have some good news to report to me?"

Harry and Snape walked through the door. Snape waited for Dumbledore to close it behind them before speaking. "Unfortunately not, Headmaster. There was an... incident."

"Oh?" Dumbledore said, seeming completely unconcerned. "Please sit down. I was just about to have some hot cocoa. Would either of you care for some? I find it cheers me during these cold months." He waved his wand, conjuring three steaming mugs of cocoa.

"Sir, something very alarming has just happened," Snape said, ignoring the headmaster's offer. Harry shrugged and gladly took the mug Dumbledore offered him. He felt despondent, knowing that Snape was about to tell Dumbledore that their lessons had to continue. He'd so hoped to get out of them at the end of the term...

"I see you will not be distracted, Severus," Dumbledore said. "Very well. What is it?"

"Potter was possessed during our session," Snape said bluntly.

"What!?" Harry shouted in surprise.

Dumbledore templed his fingers beneath his chin and stared hard at Snape from beneath his half moon spectacles. "Possessed, you say? By Voldemort?"

Snape shook his head. "Not by the Dark Lord. By Black."

"What?!" Harry yelped again, spilling hot cocoa down his front. "What do you mean, Sirius possessed me?!"

"You're sure about this, Severus?" Dumbledore asked, his eyes filled with worry.

"Yes, I'm positive. It was him," Snape said, the sneer back in his voice.

Dumbledore nodded thoughtfully. After a few moments of silence, he sighed heavily and turned to Harry. "I'm sorry Harry, but I must ask you to return to Gryffindor tower. I need to speak with Professor Snape alone on this matter. You understand."

"Understand?" Harry said hotly, his face burning with anger. _"Understand?!_ You're always keeping things from me! You did it last year, and look where it got me! Sirius is _dead_ because no one saw fit to tell me the truth about myself." His voice shook with rage as he glared accusingly at the headmaster.

Snape glared at him with narrowed eyes, but Professor Dumbledore simply sighed again. "I'm sorry you feel that way, Harry. I accept my full part of the blame for Sirius. It was wrong of me to keep certain details from you. But I must ask you to trust me in this instance." His blue eyes pleaded with Harry, and Harry couldn't bear to look at Dumbledore any longer, for fear his anger would overwhelm him and he'd end up making things explode. Again.

Harry stood up quickly and tossed his mug into the fireplace, feeling a savage pleasure at the wince Dumbledore gave as the ceramic shattered against the stone. "Fine," Harry said, his voice dangerously quiet, "I'll go. But don't expect me to trust you, and don't ask me to again. It's an insult, Professor. You failed me once. I won't let it happen again."

With that Harry stalked from the office, slamming the door behind him with a resounding crash. He could almost taste his anger, sour and stale in his mouth, it was so great. And yet at the same time the image of Dumbledore's sad, faded blue eyes flashed in his mind, making his throat clench up with tears. If he was so angry, then why did he feel so much like crying?

Harry spent the rest of the week walking about in a sort of daze, only coming back to himself during Quidditch practices and D.A. meetings. He had successfully avoided thinking about what had happened during the Occlumency lesson with Snape by not thinking about anything at all, and tended to get quite sharpish with anyone who forced him out of his self-induced walking coma. Unfortunately, Hermione seemed to have taken it on as her life's mission to solve the mystery of Harry's possession. She kept interrupting him at odd times with facts she'd read in the library about possession and the undead.

"I've read all about it, Harry," she said as they made their way to the Room of Requirement for their last D.A. meeting of the term. "It's just not possible for Sirius to have been the one. He's _dead._"

"No, really?" Harry said. "I hadn't noticed. Thanks for pointing that out, Hermione."

"I don't mean to be insensitive, Harry. I'm trying to help!" she exclaimed.

Harry shrugged and walked past her into the Room of Requirement. He didn't feel like arguing with her. In fact, he didn't feel like doing much of anything, including running the D.A., but it was their last meeting, and they needed to get their potions tested. Harry busied himself with preparing samples of the potions in small phials, so they'd be ready when the rest of the D.A. arrived. Hermione, miffed at being ignored once again, buried her nose in _An Historical Look at Renowned and Reviled Vampires of Our Time_. Harry smirked to himself--he knew she was just trying to find out more about Spike. Ron would be livid.

By eight o'clock the room had filled with students chatting about their plans for the holidays. Harry blew his whistle and put on a cheerful face. "All right then," he said. "It's the last meeting before holiday, so we won't start anything new. Hermione and I have been working on some potions we'd like to test—could we have a few volunteers?"

"I wouldn't drink a potion _you_ made if my life depended on it," a cold voice drawled from the back of the room. Everyone turned to stare. Draco Malfoy leaned against the door jamb in a deceptively casual fashion, arms crossed over his chest, his patented smirk curling his lip.

"This is a private meeting, Malfoy," Harry said, trying his hardest not to lose his temper in front of everyone. "You're not welcome here."

"Oh, but I was invited," Malfoy said, standing up straight and taking a few steps into the room. "You Gryffindors are all so noble and _brave_... you wouldn't chuck out a helpless Slytherin, would you? And here, I'm trying so hard to _repent_," he added, pressing his hand to his heart dramatically. He fluttered his eyelashes.

Harry itched to slap the smug expression of Malfoy's face, but Ron responded first. "You're lying! Who would be stupid enough to invite you when we all agreed...?"

"I would," Ginny said calmly, going to stand in front of Malfoy. She crossed her arms over her chest and glared at Ron, who stood gaping at her in shock. Malfoy, who seemed to be enjoying the whole spectacle, leered unpleasantly at Ron from behind Ginny.

"Ginny, don't be ridiculous," Ron said finally. "You didn't invite him!" In the meantime the rest of the students looked from Ron to Ginny to Malfoy with tense excitement. Harry was rooting for an open conflict. Maybe now he wouldn't have to go to the trouble of pointing out Ginny's betrayal to Ron and end up on the wrong side of his temper. Ginny could do it herself...

"I _did_," Ginny replied staunchly. "He's got just as much right to be here as anyone else. He needs to learn these things too! There's a war going on Ron, or haven't you noticed?"

"Yeah, and he's on the other side!" Ron said furiously. "You want to teach him a load of spells so he can use them against us?"

"Ginny, I can handle this," Malfoy said, moving to step around her.

Ginny blocked him again, shaking her head. "No, stay back." To Harry's surprise Malfoy shrugged and obeyed, leaning against the doorjamb again looking quite bored of the whole thing now. "Ron, he's with me. Isn't that good enough?"

"No, it bloody well isn't!" Ron yelled. Some of the other D.A. members nodded in agreement. "If you're with him, then maybe you can't be trusted either!"

"Fine!" Ginny yelled. "I knew you'd be like this! Always taking Harry's side, over your own sister even. We don't need you and your stupid club anyway! You think you're doing something fine and noble here, building up some kind of army... Dumbledore's Army, ha! This is _nothing_ compared to... Whatever! We're going!"

She stormed out of the room, dragging Malfoy after her by the arm. She kicked the door shut so hard that a long crack split across the doorjamb. The group stared after her in shock, none so much as Ron, who looked as if he'd just been told Snape would be teaching all their lessons from then on.

"What was that all about?" Seamus asked.

"I knew she had a temper," said Michael Corner, "but honestly! Going 'round with Draco Malfoy... it's a bit much, isn't it?"

Hermione sidled up to Harry in all the babbling confusion. "We need to end this, quickly," she whispered to him. "Look at Ron. He's about to have a fit and go tearing off after them."

"Er, right," said Harry. He cleared his throat to get everyone's attention. "Maybe we'd better hold off on this until after holidays. See you all then. Er, happy Christmas?" he finished lamely. The students took the hint and began filing from the room, whispering and muttering amongst themselves. Ron collapsed on a poof and stared miserably in front of him, although Harry had the feeling he wasn't seeing much of anything at all. Harry and Hermione approached him cautiously, not sure how he would react to something like this. Even more than it had hurt and angered him, Harry knew that for Ron, seeing his sister not only being civil to Draco Malfoy, but actually _defending_ him was the ultimate betrayal. Harry didn't like it, was confused and angered by it, and concerned for Ginny herself, who had changed radically in the past month. But for Ron it was something like treason.

"I can't believe it," Ron whispered. "Why would Ginny... she's got to be under some kind of curse!"

Hermione raised her eyebrows at Harry. "Er, actually, Ron," Harry began delicately, "that's exactly what we were thinking too."

"What do you mean?" Ron asked dully. His eyes narrowed suddenly as he looked from Harry to Hermione and back again. "Hang on a second... you _knew!_ You knew she was going round with Malfoy and you didn't say anything to me? What sort of friends are you?" His voice had turned angry and bitter.

Harry sent Hermione a pleading look. She sighed. "The sort that care about you and didn't want you getting hurt until we knew the whole story," Hermione said, taking up Ron's hand in hers. She grasped it quite hard in her desire to convey her sincerity, making Ron wince. "Please Ron, you've got to believe us. We didn't know anything for sure..."

"What _do_ you know?" Ron asked finally. He didn't look at either of them, but neither did he pull his hand from Hermione's fingers.

Harry sighed and told the story, becoming more frustrated all the while. Surely Ginny had to be under someone's control, to be acting like this, but they had no proof to back it up. It all came back to Halloween and the Forbidden Forest...

"...and then she told me to leave her alone from then on," Harry finished, running his fingers through his hair in frustration.

"That's it!" Ron said, standing from his poof as if he'd suddenly come to a decision. "I'm writing to Mum. If there's one person who can put a stop to Ginny hanging about Malfoy, it's her!"

Harry watched his friend stalk off with worry, forgetting for the first time in days about his own troubles. "We'd better go after him," Hermione said. "He's liable to search out Malfoy himself and then... well I'd actually _like_ to see what would happen, mind you, but we can't have Ron getting expelled. Mrs. Weasley would never forgive us."

Harry awoke early on Saturday morning and joined his friends for breakfast in the Great Hall. He, Ron and Hermione had all been sent letters earlier in the week informing them that they were to take the Hogwarts Express to King's Cross with the rest of the students, and someone would be there to pick them up from the station and take them to the safe house where they'd be spending the holiday.

Harry bolted his toast and began on his eggs while Hermione stared into her coffee cup, lost in thought. After a few minutes of silence, Hermione said suddenly, "I won't do it."

"Do what?" Harry asked. Ron was too busy staring daggers at his sister, who had opted to eat breakfast at the Slytherin table, to notice Hermione's strange mood. Harry couldn't imagine having to eat with Crabbe's face in front of you the whole time. The idea alone made him a bit queasy.

"Go to the safe house," she muttered. "Harry, you've got to help me. I can't leave my parents all alone. Even with the wards the Order set up for them, my parents will still be defenseless. So what if they'll know when someone's Apparated near the house? What will they do then—lock the door and hope the Death Eaters have forgotten the Alohamora Charm?"

Harry stared at Hermione in surprise, his eggs forgotten. He knew she had agreed a little too easily when Dumbledore pulled her aside the other day and informed her she'd have to go with them. Still, he hadn't expected a full-on revolt! "Er, of course I'll help you," he whispered back at her. "But how are you going to...?"

Hermione's eyes darted about before she answered. "I need your cloak, the password to Dumbledore's office, and a distraction."

"What are you on about?" Ron asked suspiciously, his attention snapping back to the Gryffindor table at last.

"I'm sneaking off to join the circus," Hermione said. "I've developed a sudden passion for clowns."

Harry bit back his laughter and explained to Ron, who stared at Hermione, impressed. "You're turning into a right little rebel, aren't you."

"Yes, danger is my middle name," Hermione said. "Now, will you help me or not?"

Harry's eyes glinted with excitement. "I think I've got an idea..." He grinned. The Slytherins would never know what hit them.

Fifteen minutes later Harry came puffing back into the Great Hall and collapsed in his seat, grinning. "Well, I've gone and done it!" he said. "I reckon you'll have your distraction, Hermione. And then some."

"What did you do?" Ron asked curiously as Harry slipped his cloak from beneath his robes and handed it to Hermione across the table. She fingered it nervously before hefting her bag onto her shoulder in preparation to bolt when the moment was right.

"You'll see," Harry said. He couldn't help but grin. "The password's 'Acid Pop,'" he told Hermione.

"Should I go now?" Hermione asked, her eyes flitting to the head table, where Dumbledore was still eating breakfast.

"I'd wait a few minutes," Harry said. "You won't want to miss--"

Just then a series of loud shrieks sounded from the Slytherin table across the Hall. Harry stood to see what was going on. Two tables over, Crabbe had just projectile vomited all over Goyle. Goyle's nose started to bleed profusely, and on the other side of the table, Malfoy fell out of his chair in a dead faint. Slytherins up and down the long table were fainting, vomiting, bleeding... it was disgusting. Harry couldn't help but laugh.

"Oh, Harry!" Hermione exclaimed, eyes wide as the teachers poured from the head table to assess the situation. "You didn't...!"

"You'd better get going," Harry told her. Shaking her head in disgust, she slipped out of the Great Hall unnoticed.

"What did you do, Harry?" Ron asked, standing on a chair to get a better look. The teachers couldn't figure out how to stop the chaos. Snape, looking livid with fury, marched out of the Great Hall toward the dungeons, undoubtedly fetching some kind of potion that would help.

"Slipped a Skiving Snackbox into the Slytherin's pumpkin juice supply," he whispered delightedly back to Ron. Dumbledore had managed to revive all the students who had fainted, although some of them also had bloody noses, and Malfoy was now yelling furiously at Goyle, who had gotten blood on his robes. Ginny, meanwhile, seemed to know exactly what was going on and was calmly handing out the remedies from her own Skiving Snackbox. She caught Harry's gaze briefly, and he thought he saw a tiny smile lurking on her lips, but she turned away quickly before he could be sure. Dumbledore was watching him too, his eyes crinkling a bit in amusement. He seemed to know Harry had caused the chaos, but didn't seem inclined to do anything about it.

Not that he could, Harry reminded himself. There was no way anyone could prove what he'd done, as he'd been wearing his Invisibility Cloak the entire time. He grinned as he watched Snape come storming back into the Great Hall carrying a case of potions, which he swiftly began handing out. One by one the Slytherins left the hall to clean up and change their robes. The excitement had mostly died down, although the hall was still buzzing with laughter and amusement.

Harry turned back to his eggs, although after seeing Crabbe vomit for ten minutes straight, he had lost his appetite completely. He just wanted to bask in this moment and forget all the bad things that had happened lately. Unfortunately, it was not to be.

"Potter, you disgusting freak!" Malfoy's voice sounded in his ear. Harry glanced up, trying to appear unconcerned. He couldn't help but smile when he saw the Slytherin. Malfoy's normally spotless robes were filthy with Goyle's blood, and if Harry wasn't mistaken, he had a bit of vomit in his silvery blond hair.

"You've got vomit on your cheek, did you know?" Harry asked innocently, trying to repress his mirth. Ron had no such qualms. He was shaking with laughter, along with most of the Gryffindors at the table.

Malfoy practically snarled. He didn't seem to know what to say. His pale cheeks flushed with anger and his fists clenched at his sides. He finally settled for turning his back on them and stalking away. Ron's eyes narrowed as they followed Malfoy--the Slytherin had headed directly for Ginny, who patted his arm soothingly and stared up at him with a revoltingly concerned expression on her face.

"Wish Malfoy'd gotten a Puking Pasty," Ron muttered, glaring at his plate.

"We'd better get out to the entrance hall," Harry said, glancing at his watch. "The carriages to Hogsmeade will be there soon."

They hurried to the dormitory to grab their things before heading to the front doors. Just as they were about to leave Dumbledore's voice called from behind them, "A word, Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley!"

They turned with guilty expressions, wondering if they were about to get detention for the prank Harry had pulled. Dumbledore indicated they should follow him. Harry and Ron exchanged glances before Ron shrugged and followed the headmaster. Harry hurried to catch up. He didn't mind getting in trouble, as long as Hermione made it to her parents' house safely.

They followed Dumbledore through the maze of corridors to his office, up the spiral staircase and through the door. Ginny waited in one of the cushy chairs in front of the desk, looking just as surprised to see them as they were to see her. Dumbledore smiled at them.

"I understand Miss Granger has left us a bit early," he said. Harry blinked but didn't say anything. Dumbledore always knew everything that went on in the castle. Harry was hardly surprised that he knew Hermione had sneaked off, especially since she'd probably used his fireplace to do it.

"Sir, it's just that, I mean..." Ron said. Dumbledore held up a hand to stop him.

"It's quite all right, Mr. Weasley. Miss Granger had a difficult decision to make, and we must all respect her desire to protect her parents. But you three... I cannot allow you the luxury of choices at the moment." He pulled out a broken pair of spectacles from his desk drawer and held them out to Ginny. She looked at them blankly.

"It's a Portkey," Dumbledore explained. "I'm afraid it's too dangerous for you to take the train. It's set to activate in a few minutes, so I suggest you grab on," he told Harry and Ron, ignoring their questioning looks.

Harry and Ron each touched a finger to the Portkey. "But where are we going, Professor?" Ron asked. "What about Mum and--"

Before Ron could finish his sentence the Portkey activated. Harry felt the familiar sensation of something hooking onto his navel and _pulling_. He felt Ginny and Ron banging into him as the world rushed by until they landed with a jarring crash onto what appeared to be someone's tea table.

Harry fell off and landed with a thud, wincing at the pain in his knee where he'd landed on a saucer.

"Oh dear Lord," someone said in exasperation. "I suppose I shouldn't have rearranged the parlor."

Harry stood up and looked around, trying to figure out where he was. The room was dim but cozy, with several couches and squashy arm chairs. A fire burned merrily in the brick fireplace. The room vaguely reminded him of the Gryffindor common room, only without all the red. The man who had spoken stood quickly and began clearing the broken tea things. He was an older man with slightly graying hair wearing a rather old fashioned looking tweed suit. A pair of spectacles perched on his nose.

"Here, let me," Ginny offered, taking the tea things from him and setting them back down on the table. She pointed her wand at them. _"Reparo!"_

The man started. "Ah yes, of course. Er, right. You're probably wondering who I am." He smiled at them a bit nervously. "Rupert Giles, but you can simply refer to me as Giles. This is my house," he said, offering his hand to Ginny. She shook it.

"I'm Ginny," she said with a smile, sounding more like Ginny than she had in weeks.

Harry and Ron introduced themselves. "So, er, where are we, exactly?" Harry asked finally. "And who are you?"

"Oh, right. Of course. How, uh, how silly of me not to say. We're in London, or very near there. I'm Buffy's Watcher. You'll know all about that," he said.

Ron and Harry exchanged surprised glances. "Sorry, no," Harry said.

Giles looked surprised. "Well I don't suppose they would've thought to explain. Would you like some tea?" he said. "I could make a fresh pot and explain things to you."

While Giles left the room to make tea, Harry took a seat and shifted restlessly on the couch. Ron stared daggers at Ginny while she walked around the room, examining knickknacks and framed photos with an air of utter unconcern. Harry had never felt quite so uncomfortable around the Weasleys in his life. He cleared his throat nervously and stared at the carpet.

"I've owled Mum about you," Ron said finally, breaking the tense silence.

"What did you say?" Ginny asked mildly. "That I'd finally gone and done something so terrible as make friends?"

"He's not your friend!" Ron replied hotly, but before they could get into the swing of an argument, the door opened and a familiar blond strutted into the room.

"Spike!" Harry exclaimed, happy for the interruption. "What are you doing here?"

Spike looked at him with mild surprise. "Oh bugger. I don't fancy spending my holiday with a load of tiny tots. One's enough, I'd say."

Harry was about to reply that they weren't "tiny tots," whatever that meant, but stopped himself. Ginny was acting very strangely. She had gone utterly still and was pointing her wand at Spike, her face white and her eyes hard. "You're a vampire!" she said. "Get out now, and maybe I won't turn you into a walking fireball!"

"Ginny it's okay!" Harry said while Ron Disarmed her with a quick _"Expelliarmus_!" "He's Buffy's friend."

Ginny glared at Spike, skepticism written all over her face. "Right. He's a vampire, but the good, cuddly kind. Like a Care Bear with fangs?"

"Er, right," said Harry, who didn't feel much like explaining anything to Ginny. Luckily he didn't have to, as Giles chose that moment to reappear with the tea.

"Ah, I see you've all met Spike, my lovely house guest." He set the tea down on the low table in front of the couch and took a seat next to Harry. "Now then, where were we? Ah, yes. I'm Buffy's Watcher. Well, ex-Watcher, actually, but all the same." He handed Harry, Ron, and Ginny cups of tea as they gathered around him to hear his explanation.

"So what is a Watcher, exactly?" Ron asked, sending Harry a significant look.

"Old man in tweed?" Spike said, slouching in an armchair by the fire. "Useless git who Watches the Slayer die, twice?"

Giles ignored him. "When a new Slayer is called," he explained, "it is a Watcher's duty to inform her of her destiny and oversee her training, and, uh, provide guidance."

Spike snorted. "Right, as if Buffy ever went to you for instructions. Slay first, ask questions later, that's her motto."

"Er, how do you get to be a Watcher?" Harry asked, hoping for some information about the Council.

"The Watcher's Council recruits only the best and brightest from Cambridge and Oxford," he said. "Although technically there is only one active Watcher at a time, the Council has it's hand in several other pots as well. Demonic research, areas of mystical convergence, that sort of thing. Occasionally Watchers are sent to train potentials, girls who may or may not be called, depending on the situation."

"So you're Muggles then, Watchers?" Harry asked.

"Pardon me?" Giles said, sounding as if he wasn't quite sure whether he should be offended or not.

"Non-magic people," Ron explained.

Giles took off his glasses and rubbed them clean on the hem of his shirt. "Well I don't like to brag, of course, but I've done my fair share of channeling mystical energies," he said. "But I'm not a wizard, no, if that's what you mean."

Just then the door burst open and a girl rushed in, stopping dead when she saw them. "Oh, I heard voices and I thought Buffy was back," she explained. She tossed her long, dark hair over her shoulder and looked them up and down. "Why're you wearing a dress?" she asked Harry bluntly.

"Dawn!" Giles admonished. "Don't be rude. These are the uh, people I was telling about. They'll be staying with us for a few weeks. For protection, of course."

"Huh. I thought they'd be more like Gandalf and less like Frankenfurter." Harry stared at her in confusion. She was obviously a Muggle, dressed in faded jeans and a jumper. She stared in confusion at their wands, which were resting on the coffee table. "And what's with the sticks?"

"Those are our wands," Ginny snapped, "and you're being awfully _rude_."

"Oooh, are you wizards?" she replied, completely ignoring Ginny's comment. "Do something magic! Turn Spike into a toad!"

"Dawn, that's enough!" Giles ordered. "This is Harry, Ron, and Ginny. I'm counting on you to show them around and make them comfortable while they're here."

"Yes, Giles," she said dully, taking a seat on the other side of Harry. "But it wouldn't hurt for them to show me just a little, eensy weensy bit of magic, would it?" she cajoled.

Giles began clearing up the tea things and politely "suggested" that Dawn show them the rest of the house and their bedrooms. Harry thought Dawn seemed a bit annoying, but Ron didn't seem to agree because he started asking her questions the second they left the parlor.

"So how do you know Buffy?" Ron asked as they crossed the entryway of the house and began climbing the stairs.

"She's my sister," Dawn said proudly. "Best sister ever."

"And you're American. What's that like?"

Dawn gave him a look that clearly said she thought he was a bit nutters for asking. "It's sort of like being British, only on the other side of the ocean. No, seriously. What's with the dresses? Are you two, you know, batting for the other team?"

"What, like the Falmouth Falcons?" Ron asked, citing the rival to his own Quidditch team, the Chudley Cannons.

"She's asking if you're gay, Ron," Ginny said a little snidely, making Harry wonder if Draco Malfoy could be catching, like the flu, or more appropriately, ebola. "Clueless, much?"

Ron flushed an even brighter shade of red, so that he now strongly resembled an overly ripe pumpkin. "We're wizards!" he stuttered. "These are robes, not _dresses_! We're not poufs."

"Uh huh. Whatever." She stopped at the landing to the second floor. A long corridor with two doors on either side ran the length of the house. She pushed open the first door on the left. "This is your room," she told Harry and Ron. "Your stuff is already in there, if you want to change into something less... robey."

While Dawn showed Ginny to the room the two of them would be sharing, Harry and Ron shut themselves in their room. It was a fairly spartan affair, with two single beds, a night stand with a single lamp, and a large wardrobe. Ron experimented with the lamp while Harry rushed over to Hedwig, who hooted dolefully from her cage at her first sight of him.

"Excellent, they've brought Hedwig," Ron said, amusing himself by flipping the light off and on. "We can write Hermione and tell her what Giles said about Watchers. Is this that ecclectricity thing, Harry? It's quite strange, isn't it? Why not just use candles or gas lamps?" He stared at the lamp, transfixed.

"Er, right," Harry said, rifling through his bag for a quill and parchment. He didn't feel like getting into a long discussion about the purpose and mechanics of electricity. After jotting off a note to Hermione, they headed back downstairs. Loud noises seemed to be coming from the direction of the kitchen, so Harry and Ron were heading that way when a drawling voice from the parlor stopped them.

"I wouldn't go in there if I were you," Spike said from his chair by the fire. He seemed to be honing his brooding skills, staring morosely into the flames. "You don't want to get between Dawn and Buffy. It's not a pretty sight, that."

"Oh," Harry said, taking his seat on the couch again, "is Dawn a Slayer too?"

"Don't be an idiot. Dawn can't be a Slayer. She's not even a real girl," Spike said in a voice that made it clear they should've known that.

Ron paled. "Oh no. What is she? Another vampire? Some kind of, of horrible demon that no weapon forged can kill?"

"Been reading up on Big Blue, have you," Spike said with a touch of pride. "That was all my idea, you know. And a much better one than Angel's bloody 'have Acathala suck the world into hell' plan, if I do say so myself." Harry and Ron stared at him blankly. "Maybe we'll save that story for another day, shall we? The little bit... she's the Key."

"The Key?" Ron asked. "You mean the mystical energy force that opens the gates between dimensions?"

Harry gaped at him in astonishment. "What?" Ron said defensively. "Hermione's the only one who can know things?"

The three of them spent an uncomfortable fifteen minutes attempting to chat while the shouting match continued in the kitchen. At long last Willow popped her head into the parlor and announced lunch. "Did anyone bother to warm up a pint of blood for me?" Harry heard Spike ask as they followed Willow into the kitchen.

Lunch was a casual affair with Buffy and Dawn seated on the countertop eating their sandwiches, having apparently made up, Giles looking on in disapproval and making a funny clucking sound in the back of his throat, and Ginny chatting a mile a minute to Willow, asking about some soul restoration spell she'd performed once. Spike proceeded to complain to Harry and Ron about the lack of quality blood available in the city. All in all, Harry was happy when he'd bolted his sandwich and escaped to the bedroom he and Ron were sharing.

The next few days were much the same. Ron glared at Ginny for most of it, while Ginny proceeded to ignore both Harry and Ron with even more success than she had at school. Harry noticed her reading letters over the breakfast table and wondered if they were from Malfoy, thinking that unfortunately, they probably were.

The first time Buffy dragged them downstairs to watch a film in the den, Ron had stared in fascination at the screen and kept poking Harry and asking him, "_Now_ are they using magic?" Buffy and Willow tended to like strange Indian films with lots of singing and incomprehensible plot lines. These Spike flatly refused to watch. He insisted on forcing them to watch old episodes of an American television program called "Dawson's Creek."

Ron had gotten very into the program and would watch the old episodes they played on television every afternoon with the vampire. "Just kiss her already!" Ron yelled at the television on one such day as Harry was passing by the parlor, a letter clutched in his hand.

"My theory is," Spike told Ron, "Dawson's secretly a great big ponce. Have to be, to not want a piece of tail like Joey."

"Funny," Buffy said, "and here I thought you went for the psychotic, 'I'm so gothic and evil, feed me a child' drama queens."

"Drusilla was _not_ psychotic!" Spike said heatedly. "She was gifted."

"If by gifted you mean completely evil and _really_ in need of a personality makeover, then yeah..."

Ron noticed Harry waiting in the doorway and left Buffy and Spike to their bickering. "What's up, mate?" he asked.

"I've had a letter from Hermione," Harry explained, handing the parchment over to Ron.

_Dear Harry and Ron-_

_I've made it home safely, thanks for asking. And Harry, I can't believe that stunt you pulled in the Great Hall! When I asked for a distraction, I never meant do something crazy and ridiculous that could get you expelled!_

_Mum and Dad are happy to have me home, but I'm really nervous about the thing that's supposed to happen. If you two find out anything about it, you've got to let me know straight away. With that in mind, I've got something really important to tell you. Can't say anything in a letter, but I've finally figured something out and we need to talk. Contact me the Muggle way_ _and we'll arrange something. Be careful, especially around Ginny._

_Love from_,

_Hermione_

Underneath that Hermione had written a series of numbers. Ron stared at the parchment in confusion. "What does she mean, the Muggle way? By post?"

"The telephone. There's one in the kitchen. Only, what do you think she means, about Ginny?" Harry lowered his voice to a whisper, glancing nervously at Buffy and Spike in the parlor, who were glaring at each other. "I mean, I know she's gone a bit mental, hanging about with Draco Malfoy and shouting at everyone, but you don't think she's... dangerous?"

Ron shrugged, his eyes hard, and Harry appreciated for the first time that Ginny was Ron's sister, and this must all be very hard on him. "After Percy last year, I can't say I'm terribly surprised. The whole sibling betrayal thing really looses its shock value after the first time."

A few minutes later they hung up the phone, having arranged to meet Hermione later that night at some sort of Muggle pub where they wouldn't be recognized or overheard. "But how are we going to get there?" Ron asked. "And how are we going to convince them to let us out?"

"Let you out where?" Dawn asked suspiciously from the doorway of the kitchen.

Ron went red at the sight of her. "None of your business...?" he said feebly.

"Look, if you guys are escaping, I want in. No way am I gonna be left behind. I know she's your teacher and stuff, but Buffy likes to party. She does. She's like a big party animal. But small, and human. She'll want to get out of the stuffy Englishman's house just as much as we do."

And so it was that somehow, amazingly, Harry found himself squeezed into the back seat of Giles's tiny, rusting car with Ron, Ginny, and Dawn while Buffy and Willow sat up front, swapping stories about their high school days and something called the Bronze. Harry clutched at the door handle and willed himself not to be sick as Buffy drove like a madwoman through London traffic. She was a terrible driver, and hadn't yet mastered the concept of traffic lights. By the time they arrived at their destination, Harry felt so ill he threw himself out of the car, gasping for air.

"Are you okay, mate?" Ron asked, staring at Harry with worried eyes as his friend slumped against the car, breathing hard.

"Fine," Harry gasped, standing up straight. "Let's go. Hermione's probably already here, waiting for us."

They followed the girls down the street toward the pub. Ginny gazed around, seemingly amazed by Muggle London, which she'd never really seen before. Ginny and Dawn had gotten dressed up to go out, Dawn having loaned Ginny some clothes that made Ron flush furiously and mutter under his breath something about the indecency of Muggle dress. Harry thought it was a bit much, himself. While Buffy and Willow hadn't bothered, wearing much the same clothes they usually did to class, Ginny and Dawn had gone all out, to the point that Ginny had glitter on her cheeks and eyelids, and Dawn had a feather boa around her shoulders.

"Really," Harry muttered to Ron as they approached the pub, "it's as if they think this is some sort of rave."

"What's a rave?" Ron wanted to know, but before Harry could answer they found themselves at their destination. Harry stared at the sign with a look of consternation. It was the place, all right, but Hermione had told them it was a pub, and this place looked more than anything like...

"A dance club." Ron glared mutinously at the front door, from which a pounding techo beat poured out onto the street. "How _could_ she?"

Harry shrugged and followed the girls into the club. Hermione sat at a high table near the entrance, looking very relieved when she saw them. She waved them over and they approached her table, leaving the girls to go their own way. Harry and Ron took the seats across from her, both giving her hard stares.

"I didn't know!" she pleaded, looking from one to the other. "Mum and Dad just said it was a place their teenage patients talked about!"

Harry sighed and glanced around him. The club looked strangely familiar to him, although he couldn't quite place where he might have seen it before. There was a long bar to the right of the dance floor, lit up with green and yellow neon lights. The dance floor itself was filled with people, mostly teenagers from the looks of it, light from the huge mirror ball hanging above reflecting off the dancers. Colored spotlights swirled around, the only real light in the darkened club. Music pounded loudly around them, so that they had to shout to be heard.

"Did you make it out all right?" Hermione yelled above the noise.

"Yeah, but they all came with us," Ron explained, staring at the scene around him. He seemed fascinated by the lights particularly. "This place is really quite strange."

"Right well, maybe we should go out back. There's an alley back there we can chat in."

The three of them threaded their way through the crowd of dancers. Harry saw Buffy and Willow at the bar, sipping from big martini glasses with small umbrellas in them. Ginny and Dawn seemed to be having the time of their lives, dancing and giggling beneath the flashing mirror ball. For a moment Harry felt a surge of jealousy at the sight of them--to be so carefree, to go to a club and actually have fun, rather than discuss matters of life and death--but it faded as soon as it came. Harry breathed a sigh of relief as they stepped into the cold night air. The club was a bit stifling, in his opinion.

"So what did you want to tell us, then?" Ron asked as they shut the door behind them.

"Not here," Hermione said, glancing around. There was a couple just to the right of them, although Harry thought they looked too busy to notice the three of them. "Let's go behind that waste bin there."

Harry sat down on a crate behind the bin and gazed expectantly at Hermione. She cleared her throat nervously. "I'm not sure how to say this," she began, sending a pleading look toward Ron. "I know Ginny's your sister, Ron, but you've got to--"

Just then a loud crash from the alley made them all jump in surprise. Harry stood quickly and moved to look around the bin to see what all the commotion was about. Ron and Hermione peeked out beside him, and what they saw made them all stare in astonishment.

Three large, burly men were closing in on the couple they'd seen earlier, growling threateningly. The largest walked beneath a street lamp and Harry saw with a start of horror that he wasn't a man at all, but a vampire.

"We've got to do something!" Harry whispered urgently to his friends. "They'll be killed!"

Hermione pulled out her wand from her pocket. _"Stupefy!"_ she muttered, aiming a spell at one of the vampires. But the spell simply bounced off him--apparently it took more than that to Stun a vampire.

Harry sent Hermione a look of alarm. "We can't risk magic!" he whispered furiously. "Those are Muggles! You'll have the Ministry sending you owls next! It'll have to be hand to hand combat--"

Harry thought wildly that this would surely be the death of him, but before he could react, the back door slammed open with a bang and two people came running out into the night.

"Over here, fang head!" a girl yelled, throwing a smaller dustbin at one of the vampires. The vampire turned with a growl and attacked, moving away from the couple. The other person had engaged the second vampire, but the third was still heading inexorably toward the Muggles. Harry ran out to meet it, followed quickly by Ron and Hermione. They attacked the vampire as best they could while the Muggles ran down the alley and out of sight. Harry aimed a kick at its head and felt a brief spurt of relief when his foot connected, quickly followed by the realization that he didn't have a weapon to kill it with, not even a stake. While Ron jumped on its back and began choking it, Hermione pulled out her wand, her face frightened but determined.

"Hermione!" Harry warned, but she didn't do magic. While Ron held the vampire relatively still, Hermione jumped forward and plunged the tip of her wand into his chest. He promptly burst into dust, sending Ron sprawling into the trash cans behind him.

Harry turned to see what was going on with the other vampires. The girl had dusted hers and was helping the other figure, who seemed quite out of his league and was quickly being driven into the opposite wall by the vampire. The girl picked up a rock and threw it at the vampire's head, making him turn with a snarl in her direction.

"It's me you want," she yelled, throwing another rock.

"Stupid girl!" the vampire roared, rushing at her. She dodged him and watched as he ran straight into the wall. She laughed but fell silent quickly as the vampire got to his feet, shaking his head as if to clear it. "You'll pay for that one!" he declared, attacking her in earnest.

They exchanged a rapid fire series of blows. The girl moved as quickly as Buffy--and Harry was sure she wasn't Buffy, she was too tall--but without Buffy's skill and seeming effortlessness. The vampire kicked her hard in the stomach, sending her flying into the crate Harry had been sitting on moments before. The crate burst into pieces and she picked one up, holding it so that the vampire could see its jagged, pointed end. "Let's finish this," she said.

"Who are you?" the vampire asked cagily, approaching the girl more slowly this time.

She stepped beneath the streetlight, and Harry heard Hermione's gasp beside him as he felt his own body go suddenly cold with dread--under the glow of the lamp he could see Ginny's bright head quite clearly. "I'm the girl with the sharp bit of wood," she pointed out to the vampire. She punched him in the throat hard, making him gasp, and quickly plunged the bit of wood into his chest. "And you're dust," she added with a certain amount of satisfaction as the vampire exploded with an echoing cry.

Hermione grabbed Harry by the arm and dragged him behind the dustbins, where Ron was sprawled, his face crumpled in shock. She put her finger to her lips, indicating they should be quiet, and cocked her head toward the alley, where Ginny was speaking. Harry peeked between the dustbins.

"What happened to the third one?" Ginny asked, wiping her hands off on her pants with a grimace.

"I'm not sure, exactly," Harry head Draco Malfoy's familiar, drawling voice tell her. "Maybe he ran when he saw us?" Malfoy reached over and removed a splinter of wood from Ginny's bright hair. "Charming, really. It's a new look for you, but I quite like it."

"Honestly!" Ginny said, but she was smiling. It made Harry sick to see her smiling at him like that. "Do you think they were from the Order?" she asked hesitantly.

He shook his head. "They seemed pretty run of the mill to me. Not up to the usual standard."

Ginny grabbed his hand and dragged him toward the door. "Let's get back inside before we're missed," she said. "Besides, I want to dance! What's the point in being at dance club if there isn't any _dancing_?"

But before she could drag him all the way through the door, Malfoy bent down and gave her a brief but firm kiss.

Harry stood and helped Ron, who was shaking, to his feet, feeling a swoop of hot, sick anger in his stomach. "Did that just happen?" Ron gibbered. "I must be hallucinating. I mean, I knew she'd gone mad, but this is..."

Hermione sighed. "That's what I was trying to tell you. I've been doing a bit of reading on the side--"

"Shocker, that," muttered Ron.

"--and I think Ginny is definitely under the influence of something." She took a deep breath, and Harry could tell she really didn't want to tell them what she'd found. "I think... I think it's a Love Potion."

Ron's face drained of all color and he leaned heavily against the wall. Harry felt something strange in his stomach, a sort of lightening and calming, like relief. Why would he be relieved that Ginny had been poisoned with a Love Potion? Pushing the thought aside, Harry voiced what they were all wondering.

"But _why?_ It doesn't make any sense. Unless Malfoy is a lot more twisted than I gave him credit for."

Ron laughed bitterly. "We _know_ Malfoy is twisted, not to mention just right out evil. He probably did it just to mess with us."

But Hermione was shaking her head. "That's just it. I don't think he _knows. _Harry, when you saw them talking that night on the stair... how did Malfoy act?"

"He seemed confused," Harry admitted. "Wanted to know why Ginny was doing 'this,' whatever that meant. You don't think--"

"That's exactly what I think," Hermione cut him off, her voice low and trembling. "Ginny's strange behavior, her talking to Malfoy, her refusing to talk to us... it all leads back to Halloween. And she was only with Lucius Malfoy and Bellatrix Lestrange for a few minutes. I've been researching, and it can take hours to place a really strong, long-lasting Imperius Curse on someone. But a potion..."

"It would only take a minute," Ron said in a horrified whisper. "And that would explain how she got away so quickly, and without any damage."

"They let her go," Harry said. "They fed her the potion and let her go, knowing that once she fell for Malfoy, he'd bring her over to them..."

"The only question is why," Hermione said, chewing her bottom lip. "Why would the Death Eaters want Ginny on their side? Why would they risk capture to get to her?"

Ron stood up straight suddenly, a fleeting look of hope in his eyes. "But this is good, right? Well not _good_, but if it's a potion, there must be some sort of counter to it!"

Hermione shook her head sadly. "Ron, there's a reason Love Potions are banned. That's just the thing--there isn't any counter to it. Not unless the object one fixates on wants to counter it, that is."

The hope died in Ron's eyes. "Fat chance of that happening. He loves this! You saw him..." He waved his hand toward the door through which Ginny and Malfoy had disappeared, "...he actually _likes_ this. Didn't seem uncomfortable when he was putting his hands all over my sister, did he?" Ron's voice was bitter with anger and resentment.

Hermione gazed from Ron to Harry and back again, a look of hopeless despair flitting across her features. "It's quite useless, isn't it?" she asked, hanging her head. "We'll never figure it out, not without really knowing what they did to her. I think the Love Potion is most likely, but it could've been a hundred other things, and with her refusing to talk to us..."

Harry patted her awkwardly on the shoulder, catching Ron's eye with a helpless look. Ron shrugged, looking just as upset as Hermione was. Harry felt a rush of anger at Ginny, for causing such pain and confusion in all of them. Why did she have to get caught by Malfoy and Lestrange that night? What had caused her to change so suddenly, to push them away and run to Malfoy? Harry remembered their fight that night, the angry words she had yelled at him, and couldn't help but come back to her idea that he and Tom Riddle were alike... what exactly _was_ her connection to Voldemort? Was Harry right in thinking that somehow, Riddle had transferred some of his soul into her? And if he was right... what did that mean?

Standing up straight, Harry felt his resolve harden. "Come on then," he said, heading for the door to the club. "There's no point in worrying about it now. What will come, will come. We've just got to be ready for it when it does. But for now, let's just go back in before the others start to miss us and come looking for us. And Hermione... don't bother being so upset over Ginny. Let's just... try to put it out of our minds for a little while. Have some fun for once!"

"Yes, sir," Hermione said with a teary smile, brushing past him into the darkness of the club. Harry and Ron followed after her, only to be dragged immediately to the dance floor by Buffy and Dawn. Harry stood under the colored, flashing lights with Buffy, not knowing what to do with himself as she began dancing quite sexily in front of him.

"Er, have you been drinking?" he asked nervously. He didn't think he had ever been made quite so uncomfortable by a teacher, not even Snape, who often singled him out for humiliation during lessons.

"Maybe," Buffy admitted, throwing her arms around his neck. Harry shifted uncomfortably.

To distract himself from Buffy, who was his _professor_, he reminded himself firmly, Harry looked around at the other couples on the dance floor. The music had toned down a bit from the thumping techno to a slower song with actual words. Harry's eyes flitted across the faces until they landed on Ginny's. Her pale face was upturned to gaze at her partner who, Harry saw with a sickening lurch in his stomach, was Draco Malfoy. Malfoy looked more relaxed and pleasant than Harry had ever seen him before, his gray eyes shining as he stared at Ginny. Harry had never seen the other boy in Muggle clothes before--it looked quite strange, he thought, to see Malfoy among Muggles when he spent most of his time talking about how inferior they were.

Harry tried to concentrate on the music--anything to keep him from thinking about Malfoy and Ginny--although he couldn't seem to look away from them. The lyrics floated through the air, it seemed, light and strangely sad...

_"...it's a narrow margin, just room enough for_ _regret...the inch and half between, 'hey how ya been,' and 'can I kiss you yet?' So we talk like nervous neighbors, over a tall fence. True love, but for the lack of providence..."_

Harry felt a hot, lurching feeling in his stomach as he watched Malfoy and Ginny. Somehow he knew what was coming, knew it with a certainty that frightened him, as if he'd seen it all before. Malfoy's pale head bent towards hers, her eyes fluttered shut, and then they were kissing, their fingers thrust in each other's hair, and he couldn't look away, although he really, _really _wanted to...

And then it hit him. He _had_ seen all this before, in a dream! This club, the lights, Ginny and Malfoy... the dreams came rushing back to him in a whirl of images. Sirius, telling him he had to know what to see, Malfoy and Ginny dancing, Malfoy kissing Ginny, Harry kissing Ginny, and then, horribly, Malfoy's demonic, vampire face as he sucked the life out of a helpless, trusting Ginny...

"You're kinda cute when I'm drunk," Buffy's breathless voice whispered in his ear, wrenching him back to himself. He pulled away from her to stare down into her face in confusion.

"What?" he stuttered. "Maybe I should do a, er, Sobering Charm on you? I'm sure Hermione knows one..."

She giggled and pulled him closer, resting her cheek on his shoulder. "You wizards are no fun," she murmured. "What's the point in being drunk if you can't be drunk?"

* * *

**Author notes:** Chapter 9, tentatively entitled "Wrecked," has been beta'd and will be up soon. Look forward to more of the Sunnydale gang, Death Eater attacks, and a very special Ginny/Harry moment...  
  
References:  
"I may be dead, but at least I'm still pretty, which is more than I can say for you." -Buffy, "Prophecy Girl"  
  
"He's a vampire, but the good, cuddly kind. Like a carebear with fangs?" -Cordelia, "Halloween"  
  
Song lyrics are from "Providence" by Ani Difranco


	9. Lover's Walk

A/N: Sorry this took so long! I blame the combined forces of my lack internet and being a grad student, which lends itself to never have time for anything but school. Enjoy, and please review! Your reviews encourage me to post more quickly... ;) Not that I'd ever resort to bribery... 

********

Chapter 12: Wrecked

_"Bottom line is, even if you see 'em coming, you're not ready for the big moments. No one asks for their life to change, not really. But it does. So what are we, helpless? Puppets? No. The big moments are gonna come. You can't help that. It's what you do afterwards that counts. That's when you find out who you are." -Whistler, "Becoming, Part I"_

Harry spent the days leading up to Christmas in a state of nervous agitation. He found he couldn't stand to be in the same room with Ginny for more than a few minutes, not that she seemed to notice. In fact, Ginny spent most of her time locked in her room with Dawn, or out with Buffy and Willow on shopping trips to get new supplies for Defense class. 

Malfoy was another person who refused to get out of Harry's head. He remembered the kiss he had witnessed between him and Ginny over and over again, each time feeling a pang of sickness in his stomach. He was only thankful Ron hadn't seen it--he didn't want to imagine his friend's reaction to such a thing. 

The only thing that comforted Harry was the fact that, from what Malfoy and Ginny had discussed after the fight in the alley, it seemed Dumbledore knew something of what was going on. She had definitely mentioned the Order to Malfoy, and seemed to think they might have sent the vampires to kill her. Harry couldn't imagine Dumbledore trying to have Ginny killed--the entire idea was ridiculous--but then maybe that was simply part of Malfoy's ploy to turn Ginny against them, making her believe that the Order was out to get her. Harry felt only slightly better knowing that someone, at least, was aware of the situation. It wasn't only him, then, that had to figure things out. It wasn't all down to him. 

Ron woke him on Christmas morning sounding more cheerful than he had in weeks. "Oy, Harry!" he said, throwing his pillow at the sleeping boy across the room. "We've got presents!" 

It never failed to surprise Harry how excited Ron could get over presents. Maybe it was the fact that, until coming to Hogwarts, Harry had never really had a proper Christmas before (unless you counted watched Dudley open his gifts while smirking at Harry, who usually had none, which Harry didn't), but he never felt to same kind of excitement at seeing them as Ron seemed to. Harry groaned and rolled onto his back, reaching blindly on the bedside table for his glasses. 

"Was the pillow throwing really necessary?" Harry asked grumpily, sitting up in bed. He fixed his glasses onto his face and saw that he did indeed have a small pile of gifts at the end of his bed. He threw back the covers and crawled to the end of his bed, picking up the topmost gift and grinning as he watched Ron tear into his own large pile. 

Harry had gotten a new Skiving Snackbox from Hermione ("to replace the one you used for me"), a new jumper and some mince pies from Mrs. Weasley, a pair of Chudley Canons socks that flashed in alternating stripes of orange and black with zooming cannons flying across the toes from Ron, who seemed determined that Harry should like his Quidditch team, and, to Harry's great surprise, a small, square package from Remus Lupin, his former Defense professor. Harry frowned at the package, worrying that he hadn't thought to get anything for Lupin. Now that Sirius was gone, he didn't feel like he had much of a connection with the other man. 

"What's in it then?" asked Ron, who grinned at him from beneath a large pile of shredded wrappings. 

Harry shrugged and opened the package carefully. To his surprise, a thin volume of black leather and parchment fell onto his lap from the wrapping. "It looks like a diary," Harry said, nonplused. Why would Lupin send him something like this? The cover was smooth and worn, and just a little battered. 

"Is there anything in it?" Ron asked a bit nervously. "It's not... enchanted? Or evil?" 

Harry rolled his eyes at his friend. "Why would Lupin send me an evil diary?" He opened the diary, and to his surprise there were words on the first page already. 

"Property of Sirius Black. Keep out. THIS MEANS YOU, MOONY!" 

The rest of the pages were blank. Harry flipped through the pages, only stopping when a folded slip of parchment fell out onto his lap. 

__

Dear Harry-  
I found this diary in an old box of Sirius's things and I thought you might like to have it. I'ts not enchanted, but there is a password on it to prevent anyone reading the entries. Once you figure out the password (which I won't reveal--I trust you to find it on your own!), you'll be able to read the diary as well, although I warn you, there are things in it that you may not... like, per say. Sirius wrote in this when we were in school, and afterwards, until he was taken to Azkaban. 

There are private things in it that I am trusting you to be discreet with. I'm not worried though, Harry. From what I know of you, you're not a judgmental person; rather you're quite accepting of other people's faults. It's something that I marveled at during my time at Hogwarts as your professor, and I know your parents would be proud of you. 

With that in mind, I want you to know, Harry, that if you should ever need anything, please call on me. I know we haven't been close, not like you and Sirius were, but Lily and James, and Sirius too, they were my friends--the best friends I ever had. I know they'd want me to be looking after you, and that is what I would like, too. If you need me, just send a message with Hedwig. She'll always be able to find me, and so should you. 

Yours Sincerely,  
Remus 

Harry tucked the note back into the pages of the diary, a strange tickling sensation burning at the corners of his eyes. To distract himself, he showed Ron the front page. Ron snorted. 

"Bit paranoid, wasn't he? Why would Professor Lupin want to go reading his diary? He doesn't seem the type, really." 

"He says there's a password on it, but I'm to figure it out myself." Harry swallowed and shoved the small book into his trunk with the rest of his gifts. He didn't want to think about Sirius today, not with everything else that was happening. Just then Dawn and Willow burst into their room, causing Ron to squeak and pull his bed sheet up to his chin. 

"We're not decent in here!" he yelled, flushing. 

Dawn rolled her eyes. "Puh-leez," she said, grabbing Ron by the hand and trying to drag him from the bed. "You'd think people who wear dresses half the time would be a little less prudey." 

"Giles is making pancakes!" Willow told them, seeming far more excited about the prospect than Harry thought was strictly necessary. "With chocolate and strawberries and whip cream!" 

Harry followed them downstairs, watching with amusement as Ron tried very hard to pretend he didn't like all the attention Dawn paid him. "Did you have a good Christmas? Get anything good?" Harry asked Willow. 

She snorted. "I'm Jewish, hello! Not everybody worships Santa, you know." 

The pancakes turned out to be quite delicious, so that Harry could almost see why Willow had been so excited about them. Even Ginny, who'd been sullen and secretive for most of their stay, came out of her shell a bit to smile and thank Giles for breakfast. Harry noticed that she looked quite awful, with huge dark circles under her eyes. Her skin was pale and papery-looking, her usually bright hair dull and lank. Maybe Malfoy had broken up with her, he wondered hopefully. But just as he was really starting to believe it from her morose expression, a large tawny eagle owl swooped into the kitchen through the open window and dropped a slim, long package onto her lap. 

"Oooh, what is it?" Dawn, who still wasn't used to owl post, asked excitedly. 

Ginny unwrapped the package carefully to reveal something that flashed silver and green: a dagger, Harry saw, when she placed it on the table to examine it, with an emerald studded hilt and a silver sheath decorated with delicate filigree work. 

Giles's eyes lit on the dagger with a look of excitement. "May I?" he asked Ginny, taking the dagger gingerly in his hands when she offered it to him. He ran his finger delicately down the silvery blade and took off his glasses to peer more closely at the hilt. "Hm, yes, I thought so," he muttered to himself. "This is almost certainly the Dagger of Amalia." They all stared at him blankly. He cleared his throat. "Amalia was thought to be an Indian Princess who lived sometime in the fifth century. She was chosen among all the daughters of royal lineage to be um, sacrificed to the goddess Lakshmi after a particularly horrendous season of draught. As legend would have it, her secret lover was the very one chosen to perform the task, and this is the dagger he used to bleed her. It's very rare and, and I was quite sure it had been irrevocably lost but, uh, perhaps I should consult my books, see if I can find anything else..." He trailed off, handing the dagger back to Ginny and staring into space, seemingly lost in thought. 

"Ha!" said Willow in a whispered smirk to Dawn. "I bet ten minutes before he'd consult his books! Pay up!" 

As Dawn morosely handed over a crisp green bill to Willow, Buffy examined the dagger from her perch on the kitchen counter. "You have a friend out there," Buffy remarked between bites of pancake. "A really rich friend, with a really weird idea of romance." 

Ginny flushed as she read the note that had accompanied it, and Harry knew instantly that the dagger was from Malfoy. His hands clenched in fists beneath the table, and he had to work hard to suppress the things he wanted to shout at Ginny. Ron had no such qualms. "How can you stand it!" he said, standing up so quickly his chair went flying backwards. "He's disgusting and Slytherin and, oh yeah, completely evil!" 

Buffy tried to step in. "Ron, I don't think its really any of your--" 

"She's my sister!" Ron yelled. "I won't have her carrying on with a, a Malfoy!" 

"It's her life," Dawn said. "You can't tell her what to do just because you're older!" She was talking to Ron, but glaring at Buffy. 

"All right, for those of you who have just tuned in, everyone here is a crazy person!" Ron said. "This is Draco Malfoy we're talking about. As in son of Lucius. As in guy who tried to do us all in last year. As in guy who gave you that diary!" 

"Ron, I know who he is!" Ginny said, standing up to face him. "And for the last time, just stay out of it. You can't possibly understand!" She was in his face now, yelling. "Draco is not his father. Last I checked, they were separate entities!" 

"So it's 'Draco' now, is it? I can't believe this!" Ron roared. "You're actually buying his repentant, I'm-not-my-father act?!" 

"I know what I'm doing, Ron," Ginny said coldly, clutching the dagger to her chest protectively. "Why can't you just trust me?" 

"You're not acting in a very trustworthy manner, are you?" Ron asked, his eyes wild and dark. "Won't talk to me for weeks on end, refuse to tell us what happened on Halloween... in September you were talking about how evil the Slytherins were and nearly hexing Malfoy on the Quidditch pitch! And now you're making googly eyes at him and it's, it's... against all laws of god and man! He's a Malfoy! We're Weasleys! We're meant to hate each other!" 

"It's my decision, Ron, and you yelling at me is certainly not going to change it! You've got no right! Ignoring me for three years, and now suddenly you want to be my friend again, but I know what this is really about. I'm not stupid," she spat, and Harry could see she was very close to tears. "You think I know something, and you're desperate to find out what. Can't stand to be left in the dark, none of you! But I'm not some toy that you can just conveniently remember exists the moment you get bored!" She stopped, breathing hard, and stared around at all of them. Buffy's eyes were sad with sympathy, Willow looked ready to pound Ron into the ground, and Spike watched it all with a highly amused expression on his face, as if it was one of his television programs. 

"You tell him, Red," Spike encouraged. Ginny glared at him fiercely and ran from the room with a sob. Harry heard the distant sound of a door slamming and knew she'd locked herself in her room again. 

Harry tried to finish his breakfast but he couldn't eat. His stomach was tied in knots, and though he didn't want to, though he wanted to stay angry at Ginny, he couldn't help but feel a bit sorry for her. Ron looked torn between being crushed and terribly angry at the same time. Harry knew his friend would never accept Ginny being friends with--or having any sort of relationship, for that matter--Draco Malfoy. Malfoy had always been their enemy, since that first train ride to school. Harry couldn't pretend to understand it, either. Malfoy had always been so cruel and nasty to them, and particularly about Ron's family. Still, Harry knew what it felt like to have no friends, to be desperate for people to notice him. And if Ginny really was under some sort of Love Spell... well it wasn't as if she could help it, exactly. Yelling at her certainly wasn't going to help. 

It was with this in mind that, when Ron attempted to distract himself with yet another episode of "Dawson's Creek," Harry snuck upstairs and knocked softly on Ginny's door. She didn't answer, but he could hear music coming through the wood and knocked a little harder. 

"Go away!" Ginny yelled this time. 

Harry tried to door, only to find it locked. With only a small twinge of guilt, Harry fetched his wand from his room and whispered a quick "Alohamora!" to unlock the door. He pushed it open slowly and peeked his head in to find Ginny lying on her bed in a tight ball, her back to the room. Music blared from a stereo on the dresser, a very melancholy tune that seemed vaguely familiar to Harry. 

__

...your faith was strong but you needed proof / you saw her bathing on the roof / her beauty and the moonlight overthrew you / she tied you to the kitchen chair / she broke your throne, she cut your hair / and from your lips she drew the Hallelujah... 

"Ginny?" he said, coming into the room and shutting the door behind him. Now that he was here, he had no idea what he'd been thinking. He didn't know how to deal with girls on a good day, much less when they were angry and upset and wanted nothing to do with him. Just look at the mess he'd made of things with Cho. 

Ginny didn't move, but said into her pillow, "I told you, Harry. I don't want to talk about it." 

__

...maybe I've been here before / I know this room, I've walked this floor / I used to live alone before I knew you / I've seen your flag on the marble arch / love is not a victory march / it's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah... 

"Then don't talk," Harry said after a long minute, perching lightly on the end of her bed. "But I've got something to say to you." She didn't respond, so Harry continued awkwardly. "We saw you the other night, Ginny. Behind the club in the alley." She stirred a little, but didn't speak. "I know what you must be going through, and how confusing and difficult it must be for you. And it's true, we haven't been the best of friends to you. I haven't been a good friend at all. But Ginny, I've had other things on my mind! Voldemort returning, playing tricks with my mind, Sirius... You're not exactly being fair to me." 

He hadn't meant to accuse her. He felt another twinge of guilt but pushed it firmly aside. Now that he was here, talking to her, he couldn't help feeling all the hurt she'd pushed on him for the past month, since their fight. His words had caused a response, at least; Ginny rolled onto her back and sat up, drawing her knees into her chest to rest her chin on them. She glared at him, and Harry thought dully that her eyes seemed to be the only thing alive in her face. 

"I'm not being fair?" she said, her voice filled with bitterness. "I'm not being fair! Life's not fair, Harry! I never thought it would be like this. I didn't realize how it would feel, having to fight everyday to keep the people I love safe. How could you possibly think you could know what I'm going through?! Everything comes so easily to you, Harry. You've faced Voldemort what, four times, and lived to tell about it? Do you realize that Buffy is the oldest Slayer ever, and she's only twenty-one? How is that fair? If I'm lucky--if we're all lucky!--I may live to graduate from Hogwarts, and you're talking to me about fair?" 

Harry stared at her, confused. "What are you talking about, you have to fight? You think you're alone, that you're the only one who's frightened?" Harry felt the urge to grab her by the shoulders and shake her to make her understand. A strange look came into her eyes, as if she knew she had revealed too much. Taking a deep breath, he stared her down. "Do you know what that prophecy said, the one Voldemort was so keen to get his hands on?" Ginny shook her head, the anger in her eyes dimming only a little. "It said that it's got to be me or him. One of us has got to kill the other, or neither of us can survive. Do you understand what that means, Ginny? I'm protected for now, but sooner or later, I've got to face him. And I'm going to die." 

Ginny's lips parted in surprise and she stared at him, her anger forgotten. She reached out to touch his shoulder gently, but he recoiled from her with a glare. "Harry..." she whispered, scooting closer to him on the bed. "I didn't... but it's not... you're not going to die!" Her eyes were hard as she said this, grasping his shoulders to force him to look at her. "I won't let you!" 

And then she kissed him. 

It was exactly like the kiss in his dream. Her lips burned hot against his, and a feeling of complete and utter rightness settled over him, as if this was where he was meant to be. 

__

...there was a time you let me know / what's really going on below / but now you never show it to me, do you? / I remember when I moved in you / your holy dark was moving too / And every breath we drew was Hallelujah... 

But as soon as the kiss had started it was over and she was pushing him away, dashing tears from her eyes angrily. 

"You have to go now, Harry!" she said, burying her face in her hands. "Just... just leave me alone! Get out!" 

Harry left in a daze and found himself back in the room he shared with Ron, not really knowing how he'd gotten there, feeling as if his emotions had simply shut down due to an overload. He'd gone and told Ginny about the prophecy, and now she'd probably tell Malfoy, not that it really mattered if Voldemort knew--he was trying to kill Harry regardless. And then she'd kissed him. What had that all been about? Was she fighting the spell she was under, somehow? And what had she meant, she was fighting to keep the people she loved safe? 

Harry lay on his bed for a long time, staring at the ceiling, his mind rushing with questions that had no answers. 

*********

Eventually Harry made his way down to the parlor, where the rest of the day was spent in tense silence, broken only by the sounds of the television and Spike's occasional comments about the characters on his program. Ginny would not leave her room despite pleas from Dawn and Buffy, although Harry found he was happier that way. He didn't understand what had happened between them, and he had a sinking feeling in his stomach that it hadn't changed anything. Neither did he understand the thing between herself and Malfoy, and he didn't want to, either. The only thing he really knew for sure was that she wasn't the same girl who'd tried to get him to dance at Halloween, and something was terribly, terribly wrong. Instead of worrying about it, he poured over his defense texts, trying to figure out what could possibly have happened to her to make her act this way. He was hoping desperately that it wasn't a Love Potion, because Hermione had told them bleakly that most Love Potions were irreversible. He was sure it had to be some kind of curse, and that Malfoy was the key. All afternoon he sat in the parlor with the rest, reading about the symptoms of mind controlling curses until his eyes blurred. 

The golden light of the day had all but leeched from the room by the time Harry decided to take a break. Slamming his book shut, he turned his attention to the television, which was once again showing "Dawson's Creek." Harry wrinkled his nose--this wasn't his idea of a good program. Far too much angst, and it was really quite unrealistic, as far as he could tell. 

"Er, anyone up for a film?" he suggested, sending a pleading look toward Willow, who, looking equally bored, was examining some of the new crystals and herbs she had bought that week. 

"Great!" she exclaimed, standing up. "I'll make popcorn. You guys choose something. Nothing Indian, though. That last one about the singing whale..." 

They had just decided on Star Wars, which Ron was eager to see after Willow's attempted metaphor during their first Defense class, when Willow returned with a large bowl of popcorn. "I come bearing--" and with a sudden shriek she dropped the bowl, scattering popcorn across the carpet, and grabbed her head, her face screwed up in pain. 

"Will!" Buffy yelled, running to her friend. "What's wrong?" 

"It's the wards!" she gasped, tears now streaming from her eyes. "Someone's trying to get in. I need...arggh!" She pushed Buffy away suddenly. Her head whipped up and she stared Harry directly in the eyes, although he didn't think she really saw him at all. And then she began to speak, and as she did so, her eyes turned black as ink, frightening dark pools where green and white used to be. 

"Enemies rise and fall!" she yelled. "Circling arms, raise a wall!" She lifted her own arms and a circle of golden light flooded from them, pouring outward to surround them. 

Buffy ran to the window. "We're being attacked!" she yelled. "The barrier's up, but some of them are trapped inside with us!" 

Without a word Harry pulled his wand out and headed for the door, followed closely behind by Ron. Two black robed figures burst through the door just as they reached it. "Stupefy!" one of them roared, his wand shooting a jet of red at Harry. He dodged just in time, rolling across the hall to avoid the spell. 

"Expelliarmus!" Harry yelled his own spell from the floor. The man's wand flew from his hand and Harry caught it deftly, straggling to his feet just in time to hear Ron cry out and fall to the floor, hit by a spell from the other attacker. 

Buffy ran into the hall, quickly followed by Willow, who stopped the armed man with a shouted command in a deep voice that was surely not her own, "STAY THERE." As Buffy began fighting with the man Harry had disarmed, the other man, who'd been running forward to finish Ron off, slowed to almost a complete stop. He moved as if stuck in a quagmire, straining against some unseen force. 

"Petrificus Totalus!" Harry yelled, freezing the slowed man and forcing his limbs to snap together, immobile. Meanwhile Buffy had quickly immobilized the other man, who was clearly not used to physical fighting, and was kneeling beside him, one knee pressed into his chest, her hand on his throat. 

"A little help would be nice!" she called out. 

"Get out of the way!" Harry commanded, and the moment she did, thin ropes shot from his wand with a loud BANG, wrapping themselves around the man. 

Harry rushed to Ron's side. He'd only been Stunned, Harry saw with relief. "Enervate!" Harry whispered, pointing his wand at his friend. Ron moaned and opened his eyes. 

"What's going on?" he asked. "Is everything okay? Did we win?" 

Harry gave him a small smile. "Sort of." He helped Ron to his feet, then strode over the bound man. Kneeling down beside him, he ripped off the man's hood to reveal a face he'd never seen before. 

"Who's the other one?" he asked, motioning for Ron to unmask the Petrified man. 

"It's Crabbe. Or is it Goyle? One of those," Ron said. 

Buffy went to the door and looked out. "There's more out there, but they can't get through the barrier," she told them. 

Harry rushed to the door to stand next to Buffy. In the darkness of the street outside, through a thin haze that could only be the barrier Willow had erected, at least ten people in dark robes and masks had their wands out and were throwing spells against the barrier. The barrier seemed to drink in their spells, though, rather than wavering. Harry thought it must be designed to convert the magic of the spells into further protection. 

"Death Eaters," he said, feeling more calm than he thought was possible. "How long will this barrier hold?" 

"As long as we need," Willow gasped, blinking slowly. Her eyes had shifted to green again, Harry saw with relief. 

"Yours eyes did that freaky thing again, Will," Dawn said, leading Willow back into the parlor to sit on the couch. 

"I'm fine," Willow murmured, leaning her head against the back of the couch. 

Harry heard someone running down the stair behind them and whirled around, pointing his wand at the foot of the steps, but it was only Ginny. "What's happened?" she asked, clutching her own wand. "I heard shouting..." 

"We're under siege," Buffy said, still staring out the window. "By--what did you call them?--Deaf Cheaters? Weird name for bad guys." 

Ginny joined them at the door, staring stonily at the figures outside the barrier. "Aren't you happy to see your new friends?" Ron asked her scathingly. She turned away without a word and went to sit by Willow. 

"Well, uh, this is quite unexpected," Giles said from the doorway. "Is there anything we should be doing? I'm quite at a loss for dealing with, uh, what did you call them?" 

"Death Eaters," Harry said, turning away from the window to face them. "Voldemort's followers. I shouldn't have come here! They're here for me. Dumbledore said we'd be safe here." 

"And you are," Buffy said. "Look, half these guys are escaped convicts, right? Won't the police show up at some point and chase them off?" 

Harry shivered. "I hope not. Muggles... they hate Muggles! It won't cost them a thing to kill anyone who tries to stop them. In fact," he said with a bitter glare at Ginny's back, "they'd probably enjoy it!" 

"They'll leave," Ginny said suddenly in a cold voice. "They won't waste their time here, once they figure out they can't get through." 

Ginny was right. After nearly twenty minutes of trying to break the barrier, the Death Eaters began Disapparating one by one, until they had all gone. The street was silent and dark once more. 

They didn't know quite what to do with the Death Eaters they'd captured. Harry Stunned them, not wanting to take any chances, and Spike and Buffy dragged them into the parlor. After tying them securely to some chairs from the kitchen, Harry and Ron revived them. They glared angrily at the group seated in a half circle around them, but didn't speak. 

"What should we do with them?" Ron asked nervously. 

"I'm always up for a spot of torture," Spike said with a smile. 

"I thought you had a soul?" Ginny asked, scooting her chair away from the vampire. 

"Oh c'mon now, don't tell me you've never gone after someone with a nice sharp knife and a couple liters of rubbing alcohol," Spike said, looking around eagerly as if he might find those very items lying around the parlor. 

Buffy rolled her eyes. "Let's be serious here. We captured these Deaf guys. Not what do we do with them?" 

"You could let us go," one of them men suggested. "The Dark Lord would reward you--" 

"Are you kidding me?" Harry asked, amazed the man would even suggest it. "You do know who I am, right? You came here to kill us!" 

The man gave Harry a shrewd look. "That's what you think." 

Before they could question the men further, a tapping at the window made everyone jump. Dawn hurried over to see what the noise was. "It's an owl," she told them. "Should I let it in?" 

"Might as well," Giles said. 

The owl was from none other than Professor Dumbledore himself. Giles read it with a furrowed brow. "He says to keep these men here until help arrives, which should be shortly, and to leave the barrier up. They'll Portkey in... none of us are to leave the house in the meantime." 

They had only a few minutes to wait before the sounds of two people in the front hall made them all jump up. Lupin and Moody strode into the parlor, both looking exhausted. "Thank goodness you're all safe!" Lupin said as he surveyed the room. His eyes landed on the Death Eaters and he flinched. "I'd hoped none of them would get in." 

"Yes well, now we have a few more for Azkaban, eh," Moody said. He approached the two men, his magical eye swiveling in his head. "Let's just give them the Sleeping Draft and we can be on our way. It's been a long day." 

After they had administer the potion to the Death Eaters, who obligingly slumped unconscious in their bonds, Lupin and Moody conjured stretchers for them and departed shortly thereafter, using the Portkey they'd come in on. Harry was almost sad to see them go. He would've liked to ask Lupin about the diary he'd sent Harry, but he could tell the two men had had very little sleep lately. They both had dark rings under their eyes, and Lupin had looked almost ill, his skin pale and delicate looking. 

All in all it hadn't been much of a battle, Harry thought to himself as he climbed into bed that night. He lay awake until nearly dawn, though, thinking about the events of the past few months. Because surely, the only way the Death Eaters could have known where they were was if someone told them. And who had the address but none other than Draco Malfoy, judging by the number of owls he'd sent Ginny over the past week. It all led back to Ginny, and that night in the forest. If only he knew for sure what had happened... 

Harry dreamed of the club again that night. He smiled at Sirius across the small table, all thoughts of Ginny and curses forgotten for the moment. "It's good to see you," he said shyly. 

Sirius flashed a white smile, but it faded quickly from his face. "Yes but... I have another message for you," he said, his eyes sad. "It's starting, and I'm not sure there's a way to stop it." 

"Stop what?" Harry asked. 

"The killing..." 

"You're always so cheerful, when we talk," Harry commented with a grim smile. "Is Ginny going to be here tonight?" he asked suddenly, looking around the club for a sign of her vivid hair. 

"Is that what you want, Harry?" Sirius asked solemnly. He sipped diligently at his drink, watching Harry with sharp eyes. 

"I don't know what I want anymore," Harry said, gazing out onto the dance floor. "I think she must hate me." 

"Love... hate. It's all the same. It's all... passion." 

"It would be easier if I could just hate her," Harry said miserably. "And I think... I think that's what she wants. To be the villain of the thing. Nothing's ever simple anymore. I'm constantly trying to work it out. Who to love or hate. Who to trust. The more I know, the more confused I become. Does it... does it ever get easier?" 

Sirius smiled faintly. "Yes, the good guys are always stalwart and true, the bad guys are easily distinguished by their pointy horns or black hats, and we always defeat them and save the day. No one ever dies, and everybody lives happily ever after." 

"Liar," Harry said with a small smile. 

Sirius gasped suddenly and stood from the table. "You've got to go!" He was yelling, but none of the club's patrons seemed to be able to hear him. His eyes blazed at Harry in the dim light of the club. "You've got to go now! It's all starting!" 

The dream faded to darkness and Harry woke gasping and clutching his sheets. "What's wrong?" he heard Ron's voice murmur sleepily from his bed. The sun had just risen. It couldn't be past six in the morning. 

And suddenly Harry knew. "Hermione..." he said, swallowing hard. "Something's happened. We've got to find her, now!" 

Ron sat up in bed, suddenly wide awake. "You've had another vision?" he asked, fear threading through his voice. "Is she... all right?" 

"I don't know!" Harry yelled, frantically pulling on his clothing. "But we've got to... I think I can find her house, if I concentrate hard enough. We'll have to fly..." 

"But we'll be seen!" Ron said, dressing as quickly as he could. "What about the International Code of Secrecy, or whatever the damn thing's called?" 

"Bugger that!" Harry said, pulling his broom from his trunk. "I don't care if we're seen! I don't care if we're expelled! We've got to find her!" 

"Okay, mate. Calm down," Ron said, pulling out his own broom. He clapped a hand on Harry's shoulder as Harry pushed frantically to open the window. "We'll find her." 

They flew for what seemed like hours, although when Harry glanced at his watch he discovered it had been only little more than an hour. Harry led them high above the clouds, so that they couldn't be seen from below, urging his broom ever northward. He couldn't explain how he knew where to go, just that he did, and the closer they got, the easier it became for him until-- 

"There!" Harry yelled, pointing his broom downward toward the place he could sense, rather than see. To his relief there was no one about when he landed on a quiet street of two story, cookie cutter houses that reminded him painfully of Privet Drive. Ron landed next to him, sweating and breathing in gasps. 

"Where now?" he asked. But all he had to do was follow Harry's stricken gaze to the neat blue house on the end of the street. Above it, huge and ugly, glittering and shimmering a sickening green, was the Dark Mark. 

*********

A/N: The conversation between Harry and Sirius is from "Lie to Me." "For those of you who just turned in, everyone here is a crazy person" is from "Becoming Part 1". Next chapter is already written, and hopefully will be up soon. Review! 


	10. Once More, With Feeling

**Disclaimer:** Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, Warner Brothers, Bloomsbury Books, et al. I do not own Harry or his associates. Buffy, Giles, and the Scooby Gang belong to Joss Whedon, Fox, and Mutant Enemy. I hereby disclaim all ownership. Grr. Arg. 

A/N: Thanks to everyone who reviewed, particularly those of you who encouraged me to keep writing! I know it's been a long time, but here it is… Enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter 13: Once More, With Feeling**

> _"Passion is the source of our finest moments. The joy of love... the clarity of hatred... and the ecstasy of grief. It hurts sometimes more than we can bear. If we could live without passion, maybe we'd know some kind of peace. But we would be hollow. Empty rooms, shuttered and dank... Without passion, we'd be truly dead." -Angelus, "Passion"_

They ran. 

When he looked back later and tried to remember those few moments of time during which the Dark Mark filled the breadth of his vision, hovering sickly green over the neat little house, Harry would find the task unbearable. Those brief moments between excruciating rage and all-encompassing pain... 

He ran so hard he thought his heart would burst with the effort, but time seemed to shift to a liquid slowness. He could feel every wrenching effort of his legs pumping on the pavement weakly lit by the morning sun, every heavy beat of his heart as it thumped erratically in his chest, every painful, rattling effort of his lungs to pump oxygen, leaving him gasping harshly for breath. It was such a sudden crashing, sinking feeling inside him, as if his bones had turned to iron and his blood had hardened in his veins. He burst through the front door, Ron on his heels, and didn't pause to think, but continued running, down a long narrow hall, around a corner... 

And then he saw her. Lying on the floor in a crumpled, lifeless heap, straggling brown hair covering her face, arms and legs sprawled awkwardly, wand clutched limply in her hand--Hermione. He fell to his knees beside her limp body and felt his own face crumple as he lost the battle to control his emotions. Where only moments before his heart had been racing inside his chest, now it, too, seemed to be caught in an underwater stillness. Were it not for the blood roaring in his ears, he would have thought it had stopped entirely. 

His throat clenched up so tightly that he couldn't speak, couldn't do anything but fight the battle against tears. Ron fell to his knees on the other side of her, his shocked white face mirroring Harry's emotions. "Hermione?" he whispered in a cracked voice. He reached out slowly and brushed the hair from her face. 

Harry almost turned away. He didn't know if he could bear to see his friend like this, see her staring, empty eyes--the eyes of the Killing Curse. He had seen it too many times already in his dreams, and on Cedric's shocked white face. 

But her eyes were closed. 

"Hermione?" Harry choked out, a sudden surge of hope rushing through him. He grasped her shoulder roughly and shook her, but she didn't move or wake. "Is she...?" 

Ron swallowed. "I can't tell. Is she breathing? Oh no, oh no. What do we do?" His voice was filled with the sort of panic Harry rarely heard from him and his eyes were tearing up. 

Harry bent his head and laid it on her chest, hoping against hope for a heartbeat. For long seconds he heard nothing but the sound of his own raspy breathing, but then faintly, distantly... a flutter. She was alive, but only just. 

"She's alive!" he yelled. "We've got to get someone. Call an ambulance! Does St. Mungo's even _have_ ambulances? What do wizards do in case of emergencies?" He stared at Ron desperately, searching for answers. Meanwhile, they were wasting precious time, and Harry didn't think Hermione had much left. 

Before Ron could answer, Harry heard the unmistakable _crack_ of someone apparating just outside the front door. Ron's eyes grew huge and round, filled with fear and anger. "They haven't come back to finish the job...?" he asked in a harsh whisper. 

Harry stood and faced the doorway through which they had come only minutes before, his wand at the ready. If the Death Eaters who had nearly killed his friend were back, they would be very sorry indeed. He wouldn't relinquish her without a fight, even if he had to die in the process. Something Sirius had once said, in a time that seemed as if it were another life although it had only been a year ago, came back to him suddenly: _Some things are worth dying for. _His eyes narrowed and he waited, shoulders rising in tense anticipation. 

"Hermione?!" he heard a voice crying out from down the hall. "Are you all right? What's happen--" The voice cut out as Tonks came barreling around the corner, wand out. She stared in shock from Harry to Ron to Hermione, lying so very still on the living room rug. "Oh no," she whispered. "It's too late." 

Kingsley Shacklebolt's voice echoed down the hall. "Have you found them?" 

"In here!" Tonks yelled as she pushed past Harry to kneel beside Hermione. Kingsley ran into the room, breathing hard, his eyes surveying the scene cautiously. He stepped past Harry as well and, to Harry's surprise, over Hermione to walk further into the room. Harry turned to watch the man's progress and was shocked to see Hermione's parents tied tightly to two of their own dining room chairs, unconscious but clearly alive. In his haste to get to Hermione, he hadn't even considered her parents. 

"She was like this when you arrived?" Tonks asked from the floor, carefully lifting Hermione's eyelid to check the girl's pupils in the light of her wand. 

"Yeah," Ron whispered, his voice sounding very scratchy. "Harry said she's... she's alive?" 

"Just barely," Tonks said grimly. "I'll have to apparate her to St. Mungo's straight away. Kingsley, can you get Mr. and Mrs. Granger yourself, or should we call for back up?" 

"I'll be fine," he said gruffly, touching his wand to Mr. Granger's bonds so that they fell away. 

Tonks gazed from Harry to Ron, pity clear in her bright eyes. "You won't be able to follow. I'm... I'm sorry. You should go back straight off, before anyone knows you've gone. It won't look good if you know what's happened before anyone tells you. Too many questions…" She bit her lip and pulled a quill from her pocket. _"Portus!" _she whispered, tapping the quill with her wand. It glowed blue for a brief instant before she handed it to Harry. "It's set to take you back in two minutes." 

And before they could argue that they wanted to go with Hermione, Tonks had wrapped the girl in her cloak and the two of them disappeared from the room with a _crack. _

Ron grabbed onto the quill and they waited for what seemed like the longest minute of their lives for the Portkey to activate. The last thing he saw as Harry felt the familiar, uncomfortable jerking sensation behind his navel was Kingsley grasping Mrs. Granger's wrist in one hand and draping Mr. Granger's arm around his shoulders before they, too, were gone with a _crack. _

Harry closed his eyes against the swirling, dizzying sensation that always accompanied traveling by Portkey. He landed heavily in their bedroom at Giles's house, only just managing to keep his balance. Ron slumped down onto his bed, letting his head fall into his hands with an anguished moan of frustration. Harry sat down next to him, not speaking, and they waited in tense silence to be notified that Hermione and her parents had been attacked. 

Harry couldn't help the feelings of guilt and shame that came rushing through him as they sat there during those long minutes of waiting. He knew something like this was bound to happen to his friends; he had cut himself off from them this summer because of it. But they had insisted, and had brought him back from his self-imposed isolation. His friends wouldn't leave him alone. They said they would always be there for him, be with him. And he had allowed it, because he wanted--no, _needed_--their friendship, more than anything else. But after this, how could he allow it to continue? How could he, in good conscience, remain their friend, when being his friend was such a liability, not only to them, but to their families as well? He felt his throat tighten at the idea of trying to give up Ron and Hermione, the only two people in the world who had never let him down, who he trusted with every ounce of his being. He glanced at Ron out of the corner of his eye and saw that he was tugging at his bright hair futilely, clearly desperate, as he was, to get to Hermione. Biting his lip, Harry put a hesitant arm around Ron's shoulders. He didn't know how to comfort people--in the past it had always been he who had needed the comforting--but the least he could do for Ron was to be there for him. It was his fault, after all, that Hermione had been hurt in the first place. 

Ron didn't acknowledge his gesture, but seemed to relax a bit under his touch, letting his fingers still against his hair. Hermione's parents, Harry thought with another rush of guilt... they had done _nothing_ to deserve what had happened to them. Hermione had gone home to protect them, never knowing that her very presence would endanger them even further. Harry hoped desperately that they would be all right, that they hadn't been tortured or been the victims of the Cruciatus. He remembered vividly the ward at St. Mungo's for people who suffered from permanent spell damage. Neville's parents lived there, their minds ruined by prolonged exposure to the Cruciatus curse. They didn't even recognize their son when he went to visit. If Hermione's parents suffered the same fate, Harry didn't know if he could stand it. It would be his fault, all his fault... 

The sound of steps thundering up the staircase broke his reverie. Harry's eyes flew to the door and he stood suddenly, jarring Ron out of his grieved stupor. The door flew open with a crash and Buffy and Willow rushed in, their faces white. Willow swallowed and looked as if she was about to cry, and Buffy stared from Harry to Ron, an expression of pained remorse on her face. Neither of them seemed to know what to say. 

"What is it?" Harry asked. "Has something happened?" 

Buffy crossed the length of the room in a few strides and surprised Harry with a brief, hard hug. She took Harry's hand in one of her own, and Ron's in the other before speaking. "It's Hermione," she told them in a stricken voice. "She--her family--they've been attacked. She's at the hospital now. We can go whenever you want..." 

"Now," Ron said firmly, standing. "We're going now. Does Ginny know?" 

Willow nodded. "Your mom contacted us by the fireplace. Ginny's waiting in the parlor. We're hooked up to that Floo thingy for a few hours, so that we can go. Your dad did it..." 

Harry followed the three of them down to the parlor, where the fireplace waited for him, looking as cold and empty as he felt. With a muttered word from Willow, a fire suddenly crackled merrily in the grate. "Fortunately I've got some Floo powder on hand," Giles muttered nervously, opening drawers in the cabinets along the wall. "Keep it for emergencies. Ah yes, here it is. Dawn and I will wait here, shall we, and er, well, wait." Dawn, sitting on the edge of the couch, looked as if she was about to protest, but a look of warning from Buffy kept her silent. 

Ron was the first to go. Taking a pinch of powder from Giles, he threw it into the fire and left without so much as glancing at any of the others. Harry followed him, finding that he, too, had avoided looking at his professors but, more significantly, at Ginny. He didn't think he could stand the sight of her right now, not so soon after... Because surely, the Malfoys had been in on this attack, and Ginny was right in there with them. With Draco, anyway. Harry didn't care what she said about him being reformed, or not being his dad. He certainly wasn't working against the Death Eaters, and that made him just as bad as the rest, to sit back and idly watch as people were murdered and tortured around him. Harry didn't care what reasons Ginny had to be involved with Malfoy, she should have known something like this was going to happen. And she needed to realize that she was, in part, responsible. How else would Malfoy know where Hermione was, if Ginny hadn't been the one to tell him? 

Harry arrived at the Floo station at St. Mungo's, covered in soot and coughing as he stepped out of the fireplace. Ron waited for him, performing a Cleaning Charm on Harry the moment he moved out of the grate. 

"They won't let us in covered in soot," he said briskly, walking toward the reception desk where the Welcome Witch sat, charming her nails different colors with obvious boredom. "It's unhygienic." 

Harry shrugged. He didn't think he could speak at this point, much less care about a bit of dust. Anything he said would be inadequate, and what's more, his throat felt so painfully constricted that he didn't know if he was even capable of speech. Ron cleared his throat meaningfully at the Welcome Witch, who was too absorbed in her fingernails to notice them. Harry was only vaguely aware of Ginny, Willow, and Buffy arriving and queuing up behind them as he waited with Ron. 

The witch glanced up at them briefly before going back to her nails. "Can I help you?" she asked mechanically. 

"We're here to see Hermione Granger," Ron said in a shaking, quiet voice. 

The witch's gaze flew to his face in surprise. "She's only just arrived," she said, a hint of sympathy in her voice as she stared from Ron to Harry. "School friends of hers, are you? Well, she's still in the Emergency Ward, but once the Healers have got her stabilized, she'll be moved to Spell Damage, fourth floor, ward thirty-two. You can go up there now if you like, to wait. The Healer on duty will let you know when you can see her." Ron nodded numbly and started toward the stair, but Harry hesitated. 

"And her parents?" he asked, not sure if he wanted the answer. 

The witch paused to glance through the sheets of parchment littering her desk. "They're on the third floor. The P.O.D. ward." 

"Er, P.O.D. ward?" Harry asked. 

"Potions overdose," the witch explained, going back to charming her nails. 

"Thanks," Harry managed, before following Ron down the corridor to the staircase. He was dimly aware of the others behind him, but tried to block them out for the time being. He didn't want to think about Ginny and her role in this right now, not until he knew Hermione was all right. Only then could he figure out how he felt about her involvement in it. 

The fourth floor was where Neville's parents, along with Professor Lockhart, all stayed, in a closed ward for incurable patients. Harry and Ron turned away from the doors leading to that ward and walked down a long, narrow corridor until they came to ward thirty-two. The sign by the door read, "The Dilys Derwent Ward: Severe Spell Damage." Underneath this sign was a handwritten card that read, _"Healer-in-Charge: Hippolyta Cantatius, Trainee Healer: David Smallings." _Harry exchanged a pained glance with Ron before entering the ward, swallowing hard, not sure what to expect. 

Unlike the ward Mr. Weasley had been in last Christmas, the Severe Spell Damage ward had a small waiting room filled with comfortable, squashy chairs that reminded Harry of the Gryffindor common room. There were portraits of famous Healers scattered about the walls almost haphazardly. Several low tables littered with magazines and dated copies of the _Daily Prophet_ stood in the midst of groups of chairs, and at the front of the room to the right of the door, a witch in lime green robes with the St. Mungo's symbol of a crossed bone and wand sat at a spindly wooden desk, hunched over a sheaf of parchment. 

"Oh thank goodness you're all right!" Harry heard Mrs. Weasley's voice cry out from his left with surprise. He hadn't expected her to be there, but then he supposed he and Ron were hardly the only people who cared about Hermione. He turned to face her, his throat clenching painfully. 

She reached Ginny first and wrapped the girl in her arms. Harry heard Ginny let out a small sob and felt a brief stab of anger. Ginny didn't deserve to grieve and be comforted, not when--but no. He wouldn't think about that now. Mrs. Weasley went to him next, drawing him into her comforting embrace with a sad sigh. 

"Oh Harry," she whispered, so only he could hear, "she'll be all right, I promise. They're not going to take anyone else away from you. I won't let them." 

Harry knew she couldn't really promise any such thing, but he felt comforted nonetheless by her words. She hugged Ron next, and though Harry couldn't hear what she said to him, he could see Ron nodding his head against her shoulder and squeezing his eyes shut. 

"Mum," Ginny said softly, "this is Willow and Buffy." The two girls smiled shyly and offered Mrs. Weasley their hands, but she ignored them and pulled them both into brief hugs as well. 

"I don't know how to thank you," she said to Willow and Buffy as they all settled into chairs to wait. "If you hadn't been there last night, I don't know what... but no, you'll all be wanting to know about the Grangers." She took a deep breath, and Harry could tell she was attempting to collect herself. He could see the streaks on her cheeks where she'd been crying and felt surprised that she cared so much. But then, Hermione had been with them so often at the Burrow and at Grimmauld Place that Mrs. Weasley probably felt as if she were Hermione's surrogate mother, in the same way that she had said Harry was as good as her son. 

"Hermione's still in the E.W., I'm sure the Welcome Witch told you. We won't know anything about her until they've brought her up. The good news is, no lasting damage was done to her parents. If the Healers manage to revive them, they should be fine." 

"What do you mean, _if_ they manage?" Ron asked. "You can't mean to say they're still unconscious?" 

Mrs. Weasley glanced at him shrewdly, but said only, "They are. It's something Muggles call a... comma?" She shook her head. "No, that doesn't sound right. But at any rate, they're in a deep trance, locked inside their own unconscious minds right now. It's a side effect of Veritaserum overdose." 

"They're in comas?" Willow asked, looking concerned. "Veritaserum--that's like a Truth Potion, right? Why would someone give them an overdose...?" 

Mrs. Weasley's eyes shifted nervously from Harry's face to focus on the young woman, and her hands clenched in tight fists in her lap. Harry had the distinct impression that, with her worry over her children gone for the moment, she was extremely angry about something. 

"You're Willow, aren't you dear?" she asked, her voice firm but kind. "You can't imagine a situation in which someone would be tempted to give someone else an overdose of Truth Potion...?" 

Willow's eyes widened in sudden understanding, but it was Buffy who spoke. "But if they didn't respond to the normal dosage, why bother giving them more? Unless they're just sadistic psychos or something..." she trailed off at the look on Mrs. Weasley's face. "Oh. So they're like, bosom buds with the old Marquis. Don't those types usually tend toward the torture and mayhem to get answers? So why bother with the subtle, non-deathy approach?" 

"They weren't _tortured_...?" Ginny whispered, horrified. 

Mrs. Weasley sent Buffy a disapproving look before answering her daughter. "As far as we can tell, it was just the Veritaserum overdose. There are no signs that Cruciatus was used." 

"Oh thank goodness," Ginny said, looking truly relieved. Harry glared at her but didn't speak. 

"Croutons?" Buffy asked. "As a method of torture, that's fairly obscure." 

"Cruciatus," Ron corrected in a low, hoarse voice. "It's an Unforgivable Curse used to torture people. It causes pain, and people have gone insane from prolonged exposure to it." 

"Mrs. Weasley," Harry said, "do you know what happened to them? Why were they attacked?" 

Mrs. Weasley fidgeted before answering. "I shouldn't... it's not for you children to know..." 

"Mum!" Ron interrupted. "She's our friend! We deserve to know what happened!" 

Mrs. Weasley sighed. "Well, all right then. But only because it'll be all over the _Daily Prophet_ tonight, so you're bound to find out anyway." She lowered her voice and glanced around the waiting room nervously. Until then, Harry hadn't paid much attention to the other occupants of the room, but now he noticed that it was nearly full of witches and wizards waiting nervously to hear about their loved ones. Surely this was rather a large crowd to be waiting in the Severe Spell Damage ward. His suspicions were confirmed by Mrs. Weasley's next words. 

"The Grangers weren't the only ones attacked. I didn't want you to worry more than was necessary but..." she took a deep breath. "Several Muggleborn Hogwarts students and their families were attacked last night. We don't yet know the full extent of it but..." she trailed off helplessly, as if not knowing what else to say. 

Harry felt the air whoosh out of him in one long breath as he struggled to understand her words. It hadn't been just Hermione, which meant it wasn't a personal attack. He felt a brief spurt of relief that she hadn't been attacked because of him, quickly followed by a surge of anger at the extent of the damage the Death Eaters had caused. 

"Hang on," Ron said, "we were attacked last night too! But none of us are Muggleborns," he added thoughtfully. 

"Oh Ron," Ginny said derisively. "Everyone knows that the Weasley's are a load of blood traitors and Muggle-lovers." 

"Who else was attacked, Mrs. Weasley?" Harry asked. 

Her eyes slid from his, and Harry knew from that simple gesture that someone else he was close to had been one of the victims. "I'd rather not say right now, Harry," she murmured, not able to meet his eyes. 

Before Harry could put up a protest, the witch behind the spindly desk stood up and walked toward them, stopping only when she was standing next to Ron's chair. 

"Mrs. Weasley?" she said softly. "You asked me to notify you when I received word on Miss Granger?" 

"Yes," Mrs. Weasley said, looking as if she were afraid to hear the news. Harry stared at the woman eagerly, willing her to tell them that Hermione was okay. 

"Miss Granger has just been transferred up from the E.W. She's suffered a severe shock, but she's awake and she's going to be fine." 

Harry breathed a sigh of relief. "Can we see her?" he asked. 

The witch looked at him uncertainly. "She's still very weak. I don't want her getting overly excited," she warned. 

Harry and Ron both stood up. "We won't be exciting," Ron promised. "We'll be dull. We'll talk about the Goblin Rebellions, that's nice and boring." 

"She likes talking about History of Magic," Harry reminded him, smiling for the first time in what seemed like weeks. Hermione was awake, and she was going to be fine. Harry could have sung with joy, if he was the kind of person who did that sort of thing, which he wasn't, he reminded himself firmly. 

"Right, Quidditch, then," Ron said, beaming. "She hates Quidditch. Thinks it's frightfully dull and only watches the matches because we're playing." 

The witch looked confused, but gestured that they should follow her. Mrs. Weasley, Ginny, Buffy, and Willow fell into step behind the two boys as they made their way through the double doors behind the spindly desk and into a large, airy room filled with beds and hanging curtains that reminded Harry forcibly of the Hogwarts infirmary. Most of the beds had occupants or were otherwise curtained off, but Harry didn't pause to notice any of it. His eyes lit on Hermione, sitting up in a bed directly across from the doors, smiling weakly at the sight of them. 

Harry and Ron rushed over to her, each taking a spot on either side of her bed. 

"We thought you were dead!" Ron burst out. 

Hermione shook her head and leaned back against her pillows, closing her eyes briefly. 

"I'm alive," she said softly, "although my head aches so much I almost wish I wasn't." 

Ron sent Harry a worried glance. Mrs. Weasley fussed, pushing Hermione's hair back from her face and clucking. 

"Nonsense, dear. You were very brave. A headache is worth saving your parents' lives, isn't it?" 

Hermione swallowed hard and nodded, not opening her eyes. "They won't tell me anything about Mum and Dad," she whispered. "Are they...all right? They can't be, can they, if they won't say?" 

"They're still unconscious," Harry told her before Mrs. Weasley could stop him. Hermione deserved to know what had happened to her parents, even if they weren't supposed to excite her. "But it's just shock, they'll come out of it." 

She nodded, seemingly satisfied, and opened her eyes, gazing around at all of them. Her eyes turned glassy and wet. "I can't believe you're all here. I never thought I'd see you again!" She swallowed again, and didn't bother to prevent the tears from spilling down her cheeks. 

"Hermione," Ron asked softly, taking her hand in both of his, "what happened?" 

"Ron!" Mrs. Weasley admonished, "I really don't think--" 

"No, Mrs. Weasley," Hermione cut her off quickly, "I want to talk about it." She took a deep breath as Mrs. Weasley conjured chairs for everyone. 

"I was asleep when it happened," she began, staring at the blanket covering her legs. "My parents were still awake, watching the late film on television. I should actually be thanking you, Willow. If it hadn't been for the wards you researched for me, I'd probably have slept through the entire thing and my parents…" 

Hermione closed her eyes briefly before continuing on. "The wards went off—silent, of course, but I could _feel_ that something was wrong and it woke me up. There were voices downstairs, and I could hear my mum pleading with them. So I did the only thing I could—grabbed my wand and snuck down the stairs." 

Harry watched Hermione carefully as she told her story. Her voice sounded funny to him, somehow, almost rehearsed, as if she had practiced what she was going to say. She didn't look at any of them as she spoke, but stared hard at the sheet covering her legs. Harry shook his head. She was just tired and upset, he told himself firmly. Nothing to worry about. 

"Anyway," she continued, "they weren't expecting me to be home, were they? I was meant to go to the safe house. So I hid in the shadows and watched, trying to form some sort of plan. They had Mum and Dad tied to chairs. They looked so strange, my parents. Dazed, as if all the light had gone from their eyes. One of them--I think it was Nott--started questioning my parents, and I knew then that they must have given them Veritaserum just from the way they were speaking, all monotone. Nott wanted to know where I was, and my mum answered that I was asleep upstairs, but he was convinced she was lying, despite the Veritaserum. He said I couldn't possibly be upstairs, that she must be Memory Charmed, because he knew for a fact I was at the safe house, and did they know where that was? After a few more minutes he started to get really angry. He grabbed the bottle from one of the other men and forced my parents to drink the rest of it." 

"I knew I had to do something then--Veritaserum is strictly controlled by the Ministry for a reason-- so I did the only thing I could think of. I used _Expelliarmus, _but I only managed to disarm two of them. The third one yelled a spell at me, I can't recall which, and that's all I can remember until I woke up in the E.W. thirty minutes ago." 

"Oh, Hermione!" Mrs. Weasley sobbed, engulfing the girl in a tight hug. "Oh, you shouldn't have had to go through such an ordeal, but then I guess we should be thankful that you weren't..." 

"But why _wasn't_ I killed?" Hermione asked, pulling away from Mrs. Weasley. Harry stared at her in shock. Wasn't she _happy_ she hadn't died? 

"They were after me, obviously. Why didn't they kill me when they had the chance?" 

Before any of them could say anything, a stern-looking Healer came over to shoo them all out of the ward. They said good-bye to Hermione and promised to come back the next day to visit her. As they left the ward, Harry's eyes traveled around the room, resting for a moment on a familiar blond head in one of the far beds. 

Harry paused and grabbed Ron's arm. "Ron, isn't that...?" 

"Dennis Creevey," Ron whispered sadly. "He must've been attacked too." 

"But Ron," Harry added, looking wildly around the ward, "I don't see Colin." Ron stood stock still for a moment before shaking his head and following his mother out of the ward. 

"He's probably fine, Harry," Ron said as they hurried down the long corridor toward the stair. "They didn't kill Hermione or Dennis. Surely Colin is safe. He's just in another ward is all. Or maybe he wasn't hurt at all. Maybe he's home with his parents, and they've already been to visit Dennis." 

"You're probably right," Harry murmured, but he couldn't help but remember the way Mrs. Weasley hadn't been able to meet his eyes. 

Harry felt sick with dread that night, waiting for the evening news program, "The Witching Hour," to begin on the old Wizard Wireless Giles had dug out of his basement. "I haven't listened to this thing in ages," he admitted as he set it up in the front parlor. "Not much use, really, unless you're interested in keeping up with Quidditch." 

"You _knew_ about Quidditch and you never told us?" Buffy asked huffily, as if her former Watcher had made some grave error in judgment. 

Giles raised his eyebrows at her. "Um, yes, well. I'd been searching for just the right time to tell you, actually. But you know, uh, between apocalypses and you dying and the Mayor's Ascension, it must have slipped my mind." 

"A simple, 'I was too busy,' would've made your point, too," Willow pointed out. 

"Er, right. Yes, well, I think I've got it working now. Harry, why don't you go ahead and uh, give it a tap. With your wand." 

Harry tapped the old-fashioned looking radio with a doubtful glance at Ron. The thing was so old he doubted it really worked, but they were both desperate to hear the news. Immediately a strange sort of static filled the air. For a moment Harry thought it hadn't worked after all--that they'd only gotten fuzz--but then a man's voice crackled from the box, making them all jump in surprise. 

_"...and later tonight on 'The Witching Hour': in yet another bungled operation, Cornelius Fudge's ineffective and apparently incompetent administration failed to protect nearly a dozen Muggleborn Hogwarts students last night as Death Eaters attacked homes all across the country. But first, the news with Jim Larson." _

Harry waited nervously through news briefs about several different bills being debated at the Ministry, a story about the effects of last summer's drought on pumpkin farmers in the country, and a brief station break soliciting donations to the WWN "because Wizard's Wireless is only made possible through contributions from listeners like you!" He wondered aloud why the story wasn't a top item; Ron thought it had probably already been covered so much during the day, that they were only recapping it tonight. They both pointedly ignored Ginny, who sat in a shadowy corner, looking pale and miserable. Harry could barely stand to look at her. 

"Oh wait, here it is!" Harry said, shushing Ron and scooting closer to the Wireless. 

_"But the story on everyone's minds tonight is, of course, the massive attacks instigated last night all across the country, attacks which many are touting as the first real battle of the war against You-Know-Who and his followers. For more on this, we go to Margaret Olsen in London." _

"Thank you, Jim. I'm standing outside the Ministry of Magic's visitors' entrance, just a small, abandoned telephone booth in a shady alley in the heart of London. The booth is cramped; its folding door hangs askew on its hinges, oftentimes refusing to close for those few witches and wizards who use this entrance to gain admission into the building where all the most important decisions regarding our lives are made. Laws and regulations, who is guilty and who is innocent, even wizard's rights... all are decided just inside this ragged, crumbling telephone booth. This cramped red rectangle of rusted metal and peeling plastic is more than just a gateway, however. It is a barrier, a metaphor for Cornelius Fudge's administration and the mistakes he has made since his inauguration fifteen years ago, and those he continues to make, even in the face of this latest tragedy. 

"You all know the story by now: on the evening of Christmas Day, at approximately nine o'clock p.m., nearly a dozen homes across Britain were brutally attacked by black robed, hooded persons. In each house lived a Muggleborn Hogwarts student, all home to visit their families for the holidays, never knowing that they would soon become the only defense between the deadly spells of Death Eaters and their Muggle families. In most cases the Muggleborn students were the only witch or wizard in their family, and they quickly found themselves forced to fight in a war not of their making, not of their choosing, much sooner than anyone had a right to expect them to. 

"The Creevey family was lucky, if any of those attacked last night can be said to be. Both of their children attended Hogwarts School, and both boys were gifted wizards in their own right. They had just returned from a night of caroling--a family tradition the Creeveys have observed for generations--when little Dennis, a third year student, noticed strange figures appearing out of thin air all around their house. The moment he stepped outside to get a better look, he was hit with a spell that nearly killed him--would have killed him--had it not been for his older brother's quick insight in casting a Shield Spell. Colin Creevey, a fifth year student, told his parents to take Dennis and run. The Creeveys could only do as he said. They, after all, had no magic, and were defenseless against the Death Eaters. Colin Creevey fought bravely and died tragically to save his family from a terrible fate. He was a true Gryffindor to the end. 

"Instead of honoring his memory, and those of the four other students who died in last night's attacks, the Minister is insisting that these assaults were simply random acts of violence, and while surely perpetrated by the followers of He Who Must Not Be Named, the fact that all of the victims were Muggleborn is inconsequential. Fudge and his administration continue to insist that Muggleborn students and their families are not at any special risk, and should continue to lead their lives as normally as possible, just as we all must in the wake of this terrible tragedy. 

"As I stand here outside the decrepit telephone booth--a Muggle artifact, to be sure--I can't help but think that Fudge's administration has led us in a direction that made it possible for acts of terrorism such as last night's events to occur. Like this telephone booth, Wizard-Muggle relations are broken down and outdated, falling apart due to disuse and disrepair. Fudge has made this lax attitude, this patronizing view of Muggles, possible through his insistence on the hidden nature of the Wizarding World, even to the extent that such secrecy has in the past and will in the future cost Muggles their lives. Can we, after last night's events, afford to continue to treat Muggles as lower life forms, the way the current administration has been doing for the past fifteen years? Is that how Fudge plans to honor Colin Creevey and those like him who died defending their Muggle families--by perpetuating the credo of hatred and inferiority that is the very crux of You-Know-Who's philosophy? 

"I, for one, am reminded tonight of a man who, not even a year ago, was killed in a battle beneath my very feet, in the bowels of the Ministry, to defend his friends and family. A man shunned by society and falsely accused, a man who was sent to Azkaban by this very administration without trial and rotted there for twelve years with only dementors for company. A man who, despite being treated abominably by the Ministry and believed a murderer by even those he thought would always have faith in him, fought and died to defend the very world that believed him nothing more than a traitorous follower of He Who Must Not Be Named. 

"Sirius Black died to defend his friends and family, because he believed in the possibility of a better world. So tonight, while the Wizangamot convenes to discuss the events of Christmas evening, I urge them to remember the faces of Sirius Black and Colin Creevey, and those of the four other students and their families who have died thus far in the fight against the rising tide of evil in our world. For the WWN in London, I am Margaret Olsen." 

"Thank you, Margaret. And now in other news..." The Wireless sputtered and died as Harry tapped it mechanically with his wand. He stared at the faces of the others in the room: Ron, who looked shell shocked and white-faced; Giles, who was clucking his tongue and shaking his head sadly; Willow and Buffy, who were exchanging sad, knowing looks, as if to say they were used to this sort of thing; and Ginny, who was staring into the crackling fire, seemingly heedless of the tears streaming down her cheeks. Harry felt strangely empty. He knew at some point he would begin to feel it--the news that Colin Creevey, the same boy who had taken his photo so many times and played Beater on his Quidditch team, was dead. Harry couldn't quite process it. A part of him, despite the Wireless broadcast, was absolutely certain that when he returned to Hogwarts in a few days' time, Colin would be there in the corridors, calling out, "All right then, Harry?" and grinning his toothy smile. 

And who, Harry wondered, were the other five students who had died in the attacks? Staring into the dancing flames of the fire, Harry couldn't decide if he truly wanted to know. 

Harry was still sitting in front of the fireplace hours after everyone else had gone to bed, staring blankly into the dying fire and trying not to think. His brain wasn't cooperating, though. He couldn't get the image of Colin Creevey out of his mind. He remembered Colin in so many ways, from his days as a rather odd first year always begging to take Harry's photo, to him lying Petrified in the hospital wing at Hogwarts. His efforts during D.A. meetings, he and Dennis staying up late into the night in the Gryffindor common room, attempting to charm "Support Cedric Diggory!" badges to read Harry's name instead. And over and over again, he imagined how Colin's last moments must have been: casting the Shield Charm that had saved his brother, telling his parents to take Dennis and go, being met with the terrible whooshing sound of approaching death and a bright green flash... and it reminded him horribly of the memories the dementors had invoked in him during his third year, of his parents dying. _"Lily, take Harry and go!" _

Harry covered his face with his hands, letting his fingers tug fitfully at his mop of messy hair. He knew he should be more concerned about the others that had been attacked, but a part of him was afraid to know, afraid to find out if he'd lost another friend. Or four. He ran through all the likeliest possibilities in his head: Lavender Brown, Dean Thomas, Justin Finch-Fletchley, Terry Boot, Hannah Abbot... the list went on and on. There were loads of Muggleborns at Hogwarts, not just the ones in his year. It could be any of them. 

"Harry?" Harry raised his head at the voice and squinted at the shadowy figure leaning in the doorjamb. Buffy took a few uncertain steps into the room, as if unsure whether or not she should disturb him. 

"Um, it's kinda late. Aren't you tired?" 

Harry leaned back in his chair with a sigh and nodded. He was tired, exhausted, really. He hadn't had much sleep the night before, had spent a better part of the morning riding his Firebolt to get to Hermione, and the rest of it worrying about her. He hadn't been able to sleep the rest of the day, waiting for the news to come on and watching Giles fiddle with the Wireless... yes, he was tired. But he was also dreading sleep, and the dreams he knew would follow. 

Buffy sat down in the chair across from him, clenching her hands together nervously. 

"I'm not exactly good with the whole talking thing. I tend to get pretty clammy myself. Feelings aren't a big thing with me. Letting them out, I mean. 'Cause it's my job to be strong, you know? I'm supposed to be a Champion. People depend on me." 

Harry nodded, wondering why she was giving him this speech. He wished she'd just let him alone, because he dreaded the direction this was heading--straight into the "you have to talk about your feelings or you'll crack" arena. And Harry didn't feel like talking, not at all. He hadn't even let Colin's death truly sink in yet. He didn't know how he felt about it, aside from the obvious. 

"What I'm trying to say is, I've been where you are Harry. I went to high school on a Hellmouth. A lot of my friends died, and it was my fault I couldn't save them. And sometimes, it was my fault because I was the Slayer, and I tend to get lots of creepy crawly monster guys after me. If they can't hurt me physically, they'll try to do it through my friends." 

Harry stared at her, nonplussed. Was she saying what he thought she was saying? That these attacks, Colin and the other students who had died... that it was his fault? He felt responsible in some ways, yes, but he'd thought this whole thing was some sort of Mudblood hatred, not that it had anything to do with him specifically. 

"Oh, I don't think this is your fault," Buffy said quickly at the darkening expression on Harry's face. "I'm just saying, that you can't give up now. People are going to die. It's war, and it's something you'll have to get used to. It will hurt, every time, but that's good, because it'll remind you that you're still alive, and you still have work to do." Buffy stood with a yawn and prepared to go. 

"How many?" Harry asked suddenly at her retreating back. She turned to face him with a confused frown. "How many friends of yours have... died?" Suddenly he wasn't sure he should have asked her at all. Her expression seemed to close down and for a moment, he saw in her what vampires must see when they faced her in a fight: a face that said she would never give up, never give in, and always meet the challenge before her. 

"Too many," she said only. 

"And... and if a friend ever turned, if you thought they'd betrayed you, what would you do then?" Harry asked, not really sure where the question had come from. 

She looked him in the eyes unflinchingly and said, "I would kill him, if I had to. Kill him before he killed me or worse, innocent people." 

"You've already done it," Harry said with a sudden realization. 

"I have," Buffy said, turning away from him once more, "and I'd do it again." 

Harry stared after her for several minutes before standing up to go to bed. He didn't feel better, not at all, but he thought he understood a little of what Buffy had been trying to tell him. 

He awoke several hours later, desperately needing a drink of water. He sat up and shoved the bedcovers off, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. Groggily, feeling as if he were still asleep, he padded out of the room and into the hall, making his way to the bathroom door down the corridor. Running his hand through his hair, he pushed open the door and found himself not in the bathroom, as he'd expected, but in the club from his dreams. 

A slow song played over the club's speakers--there was no band tonight. On the dance floor couples swayed gently to the music, pressing close to each other. Harry saw a tall brunette girl being dragged reluctantly onto the dance floor by a pale boy about his own age and smiled a little. The girl had obviously been convinced somehow to dance against her will. 

_How are you feeling? Do you feel okay? 'Cause I don't! _The song was loud in his ears and Harry realized suddenly that somehow, this wasn't his dream at all. He'd been in other people's memories enough times to recognize the feeling, and he knew it now. Everything was hazy and dull in the way it never was in his dreams. Before he really understood what was happening--how could he be in someone else's dream?--the doors to the club swung open with a bang and several people filed into the dim room. No, not people, Harry thought to himself with a sickening lurch in his stomach--vampires. 

Then the club went suddenly dark and the music cut out. Several of the dancers began grumbling, but stopped immediately when a man leapt up onto the stage and began speaking. 

"Ladies and gentlemen! There is no cause for alarm. Actually, there is cause for alarm. It just won't do any good." 

His face had the ridged, distorted appearance of a vampire, and Harry could see a strange symbol painted on the man's forehead in what he was sure must be blood. Several people screamed on seeing his face, and the dark haired girl Harry had seen earlier said in confusion, "I thought there wasn't any band tonight." 

The boy she'd been dancing with had changed, Harry saw--he was a vampire, too. The vampire on stage spoke again. 

"This is a glorious night! It is also the last one any of you shall ever see. Bring me the first." 

Another vampire shoved a tall, powerfully built man onto the stage. He stumbled and tried to talk, clearly not understanding the situation. 

"What do you guys want, man, huh? You want money? Man, what's wrong with your faces?" 

Harry watched in horror as the vampire killed the man quickly and without fanfare, then demanded another victim. A teenage girl was shoved onto the stage next, and all Harry could do was watch. He knew, somehow, that he couldn't do a thing to save her, or any of these people. Like the other memories he'd visited, he was neither seen nor heard, and could only observe. The vampire drained the girl until she struggled no more and let her body fall onto the stage. 

A blond vampire approached the brunette girl and her vampire companion. She took the girl's arm and began tugging her toward the stage. 

"This one's mine!" the boy said possessively. The brunette looked both confused and horrified; it was clear to Harry she had no idea which fate would be worse. 

"They're _all_ for the Master," the blond told him with a fanged smile, firmly pulling the girl toward the stage. 

"I don't get one?" the boy asked petulantly, his eyes tracking the girl's progress toward the stage. 

"I feel the Master's strength growing!" the lead vampire yelled from the stage. "I feel him rising. Every soul brings him closer! I need another! Tonight is his ascension. Tonight will be history at its end! Yours is a glorious sacrifice! Degradation most holy. What? No _volunteers_?!" 

The blond vampire shoved the girl onto the stage. "Here's a pretty one," she said. 

The vampire grabbed the girl and brought her close to him, trailing a finger down the side of her face. She screamed and tried to back away, but he held her tightly. Suddenly something came tumbling down from the balcony level above--a vampire, Harry saw with surprise. The lead vampire watched his minion fall with sudden interest, but looked up immediately when a voice called down from above. 

"Oh I'm sorry," Buffy said from the railing, looking innocently confused, "were you in the middle of something?" 

"You!" the vampire growled in excitement and anger. 

"You didn't think I'd miss this, did you?" Buffy asked with a sardonic smile. 

"I hoped you'd come," the vampire said. 

"Be right down," Buffy replied. She backed away from the railing momentarily before running at it and grabbing onto it, twisting her body over the metal bar before falling several feel to land gracefully on the pool table below. Immediately she was attacked by the vampire she'd kicked over the balcony. She grabbed up a pool cue and dusted him easily. 

"Okay, Vessel Boy," she said, taking off her jacket. "You want blood?" 

"I want yours! Only yours!" he replied, shoving the brunette away from him. 

Buffy shrugged as if it didn't matter to her one way or another. 

"Works for me," she said. 

They began fighting in earnest, but Harry was distracted from the two of them by the boy he'd seen before. He'd reclaimed the brunette girl, who was struggling to get away from him. Another boy approached them from behind, stake held high. 

"Jesse, I know there's still a part of you in there." 

Jesse laughed and let go of the girl, who escaped as fast as she could. 

"Okay... Let's deal with this. _Jesse_ was an excruciating _loser_ who couldn't get a date with anyone in the sighted community! Look at me. I'm a new man!" 

On the stage, Harry thought Buffy was a goner. The vampire held her tightly from behind, and was preparing to bite. 

"Master! Taste of this and be free!" he cried out, bending toward the Slayer. 

Buffy responded by slamming the back of her head into the vampire's face, knocking him off of her and into the wall behind them. 

"How'd it taste?" she quipped. 

Meanwhile, Jesse the vampire had grabbed his friend, who held a stake to his heart. 

"Ooo! All right. Put me out of my misery. _You don't have the guts," _he snarled. 

Just then a dancer running by to escape the club bumped the boy, whose stake plunged into Jesse's chest. On the stage, Buffy grabbed the empty microphone stand and held it like a javelin, as if she was preparing to throw. 

"You forget," the vampire said with a smile, "metal can't hurt me." 

"But there's something you forgot about too!" Buffy said triumphantly, hefting the metal in her hand. "Sunrise!" And with that she threw the stand high at the window above the stage, sending shards of glass crashing to the floor in a haze of light. The vampire cringed, covering his face with his hands while Buffy grabbed up her fallen stake and impaled it into the vampire's back. 

"It's in about nine hours, moron!" she said as the vampire stumbled toward the edge of the stage. He took another faltering step before tumbling off the stage. He was ashes before he hit the ground. 

The rest of the vampires scampered, until only Buffy, the dark haired boy, Willow and Giles were left. 

"I take it it's over," Giles said, approaching the stage and the Slayer. 

"Did we win?" Willow asked. It was strange, Harry thought. Willow looked so much younger, more carefree. Her hair was long and her eyes had none of the oldness in them, and none of the power, either. 

"Well, we averted the apocalypse," Buffy said. "I give us points for that." 

"One thing's for sure," the boy said. "Nothing's ever going to be the same..." 

Harry and Ron went to visit Hermione again the next day. Ginny seemed to want to accompany them, but as if by unspoken agreement, they both ignored her and refused to speak to her until she went up to her room and slammed the door behind her. 

"Good riddance," Ron muttered, glaring at the stairway. 

Lupin and Tonks had come to escort them to St. Mungo's. They took the Underground, and Harry stared blankly at the advertisements as the train rumbled along, lost in thought about the dream he'd had. He was certain he must have somehow been inside Buffy's dream, although how that was possible, he couldn't say. It hadn't been like his dreams of Voldemort. It hadn't been a vision precisely, but a memory of something past, and he hadn't _been_ Buffy, the way he was Voldemort in those dreams. He'd been an observer. An intruder, he thought a little guiltily. He was startled out of his reverie by Lupin's low voice in his ear. 

"Did you hear that NewsWitch's report on the _Witching Hour_ last night?" he asked. 

Harry nodded. "She mentioned Sirius," he said. He didn't look at Lupin. He wasn't sure he even wanted to be talking about this. 

"He hasn't officially been cleared by the Ministry," Lupin murmured softly, as if he didn't want any one else to hear. "I'm surprised she did that." 

Harry shrugged and Lupin seemed to get the idea--he didn't want to talk. They sat in silence for the rest of the journey, Harry staring out the window at the flashing lights of the tunnel. His thoughts turned inexorably toward Ginny, as they often did these days, but Harry was simply too tired to push them away. 

He knew logically that the attacks had not been her fault. He knew that she would never have knowingly passed information to Death Eaters or put their friends in danger. And yet...perhaps she had done so knowingly, but not _willfully._ If she really was under some sort of Love Potion, perhaps Malfoy had a lot more control over her than they had originally thought. It was one thing to snog someone you were supposed to hate and defend his evilness to your friends; it was quite another to put your friends and family in danger because of it. Harry wanted to believe that she was under some kind of spell that was controlling her and making her do things she wouldn't normally do. But at the same time he couldn't quite convince himself of that. 

The facts were against her, he thought miserably. Her transformation from Slytherin-hating, cheerful, friendly Ginny to morose, moody, angry all the time, distant Ginny had been sudden and complete. The only time in the past few months that Harry thought he was seeing the real Ginny was when she was yelling at him, but even that wasn't right. The old Ginny had never yelled at him; she'd snapped at him a few times, called him an idiot a fair number as well, but she'd never yelled or cried. And she'd never kissed him. 

Harry felt his face burn at the thought of the kiss they'd shared. It had been so brief, and then she'd yelled at him again, sounding almost like Moaning Myrtle. _Go away! _If it hadn't been for the Death Eater attack on them that night, Harry could almost make himself believe that she was under some simple Love Spell or even, as unlikely as he thought it, that she actually _liked_ Malfoy for some unfathomable reason. But the only way the Death Eaters could have possibly found them was if someone told them where to look. And Harry had no doubt that Ginny had passed that information to Draco Malfoy. Whether she knew about the impending attack or not was irrelevant; her actions bespoke of more than simple naiveté and a misplaced sense of trust. Harry had done a lot of research on Love Spells and potions over the past few days. While something like that may have made Ginny act strangely and certainly explained her sudden liking for Malfoy, Love Spells simply weren't powerful enough to make a person do something their conscience refused to tolerate. Even if Ginny was under a Love Spell, it didn't excuse her actions. She had still knowingly put her friends and family in danger, and Harry wasn't sure he would ever forgive her for that. 

More than that, he thought as he watched Ron fidget in the seat across from him, he wasn't sure what he was going to do about it. She was a traitor--that fact was glaringly obvious after the attack at Giles' home. But she was also Ron's sister, and then there was the fact that he had no _proof_ of any of this. While Ron might be willing to believe his sister was under a Love Spell, he would never truly believe she was a traitor. He had acted so callously about it before, as if Percy's decision to side with the Ministry last year had hardened him against betrayal. But Harry knew that if Ron was presented with hard evidence of Ginny's treachery, he would refuse to see reason. Harry would probably do the same thing in his situation. If he'd had a sister, he liked to believe he would have defended her until the end. 

When they finally exited the Underground into the bright, glaring sunlight and the frosty chill of the city, Harry was almost relieved to be shaken from his thoughts. They approached the closed storefront cautiously, waiting for the strange, bare mannequin to nod surreptitiously before they disappeared through the glass window. 

They proceeded up to the Severe Spell Damage ward, Harry trailing a little behind everyone else. He wanted to see Hermione--was desperate to make sure she was all right--but at the same time he dreaded the encounter. Hermione would no doubt know the names of the four other students who had died the night she'd been attacked, and Harry wasn't sure he was ready to know. He only had a few days left of holiday and he almost wished he could remain ignorant until then and simply try to enjoy his remaining time of relative freedom. 

But it was not to be. While Lupin and Tonks headed down to the third floor to speak to Hermione's parents, who had finally been revived late the night before, Hermione stared at both of them with stricken eyes before bursting into tears. 

"Oh, it's just too awful!" she sobbed as Harry and Ron exchanged panicked looks over her head. Harry patted her on the shoulder. "Colin and Euan, and that Huffelpuff Zacharias Smith, Megan Jones, and, and Terry... This is all my fault! It should've been me that, that... it should've been me!" 

Harry swallowed hard and continued to pat Hermione's shoulder, but inwardly he felt as if the chill from outside had seeped deep into his bones. He felt completely frozen by her words. He didn't know who Euan was, he thought that maybe there was a younger Gryffindor student named Euan, but the rest... He hadn't even known Zacharias Smith was a Muggleborn. Harry immediately felt guilty for ever having thought Zacharias was annoying or snooty. And Terry... Harry had sparred with him in Defense class several times last term. He had been a member of the D.A. from the beginning, had been one of the students out on the lawn conjuring Patronuses during the dementor attack last Halloween. And now... now he was dead. 

It hit him all at once. Terry, Colin, and the rest. They were well and truly gone. He'd never see them at D.A. meetings again, they'd never learn the new hexes and jinxes he'd researched for next term, they'd never play Quidditch again, or have a meal in the Great Hall. Harry's face felt strangely wet, until he realized with a start that he was crying. He hadn't cried for months, not since that day in Dumbledore's office last June, not since Sirius... 

Hermione and Ron were staring at him now. Harry tried to turn away, embarrassed, but Hermione threw herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck and sobbing into his Weasley jumper uncontrollably. After several long, tense minutes in which Harry resisted the urge to let his tears flow freely as he pressed his face into Hermione's shoulder, she seemed to calm down until she pulled away with a sad sigh. 

"I... I don't know what to say," Harry attempted to comfort her lamely. He really _didn't_ know what to say. He wished that he could break down like that, just throw himself on someone and sob out all the awful feelings building up inside his chest. Hermione, despite his useless words, looked a bit better. 

"Oh Harry," she said, shaking her head, "there's nothing _to_ say." 

"Hermione," Ron said, fidgeting in his chair by her bed, "it's not your fault. You know that, right? I don't... you can't go 'round saying it should've been you!" Ron's voice sounded strangely hoarse, and he was staring at Hermione with intensely bright eyes. Harry had the uncomfortable feeling that he was somehow intruding on his friends. 

"No," Hermione replied, "I know. It's just..." Her voice dropped to a whisper, so that Harry had to lean closer to hear her, "I know why I didn't. Why _they_ didn't, I mean." 

Harry stared at Hermione, shocked. "But yesterday you said..." 

"I know what I said, Harry." Her eyes darted around the room, checking to make sure that Lupin and Tonks hadn't yet returned from talking to her parents. "I _lied_." 

"You lied to my mum?" Ron asked, nonplussed. 

"Your mum will know by now. No, it wasn't her I was lying to. It was Ginny." 

"But--" Ron began, but Hermione cut him off quickly. 

"No Ron. I don't want to argue about this. I've got my reasons. Anyway, don't you want to hear my story? The _real_ story, this time?" Ron looked like _he_ wanted to argue even if she didn't, but gave in with a shrug. 

"Well I got lucky, in a manner of speaking. The Death Eater who cursed me, the one I didn't manage to disarm? It was Snape, of course." 

"_He_ cursed you?" Harry hissed, anger overcoming all the pain and aching grief he'd been feeling only moments before at the loss of his friends. "_I'll kill him!" _

"Honestly, Harry! _Think_ for a moment, would you? I'm alive because of Snape, not despite him. He cursed me, yes. And it was a powerful curse at that. You saw what it did to me. But he also risked a great deal convincing the others not to kill me outright. And then when they wanted to take me as bait, he Cunfunded them both and told them that the Aurors had just Apparated outside the house. He somehow made them _see_ Aurors out on the front lawn. And then he cursed me." 

"What'd he do that for?" Ron demanded angrily. Harry was wondering the same thing. "Why bother to curse you then, when they'd already seen they had to leave immediately?" 

"To cover himself, of course. I don't blame him, Ron, and neither should you!" she whispered furiously. "He risked a lot to save me, and we need him in there. We need them to keep trusting him, keep feeding him information." 

"If he's so bloody important," Harry said, his eyes flashing, "then why didn't he know this was coming? He was in on it, he was part of it! Surely he could've given us some warning, and then maybe Colin and the rest would still be alive!" 

"Lower your voice, Harry, someone will hear you!" Hermione said, looking around the ward nervously. The Healer in charge gazed at them, one eyebrow raised in question, but shrugged and turned away when Hermione smiled cheerfully and waved at him. "Anyway," she continued, "we don't know why he didn't say anything. Maybe he didn't know. Voldemort works in _secret_, Harry. The Death Eaters don't even know each other's names, some of them. He probably doesn't go broadcasting his plans for world domination to every minion who kisses his robes!" 

Harry tried to quell his anger, tried to listen when Hermione told them about her parents' condition, and what was being done to treat them. He forced a smile when the MediWitch on call announced to them that visiting hours were over, but as Hermione would be discharged the next day, they'd be able to see her all they liked then. With her parents still in the hospital, Lupin and Tonks decided in whispers on the Underground fifteen minutes later, Hermione would have to stay at the safe house for rest of the Christmas holiday. Harry stared out the window as the train rumbled through the blackness of the tunnels, unable to stop the tide of anger and hatred he felt rising inside him. Anger at Ginny's betrayal, at Snape's impotence, but most of all at Voldemort. Harry pictured Voldemort's grotesque, reptilian face in his mind's eye, feeling as if his hatred would blind him with its intensity. 

References:  
The scene from Harry's dream taken from "The Harvest". All conversation and action are from that episode. Only Harry's thoughts are mine. 

Coming up in the next chapter...Ron has hidden depths (as a cunning theif), Harry screams like a girl, and Hermione learns a secret...


	11. Shadows and Revelations

A/N: Thanks to everyone who reviewed chapter 13: shouldbeblonde, Silver Warrior, and Lightdemondarkangel. Also thanks to my betas, Tiffany and Katie, for getting through this so quickly and correcting all my silly errors. For anyone who's interested, I now have a live journal on which I will be posting updates and cookies for upcoming chapters. Check it out at www dot livejournal dot com backslash users backslash phaballa. Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or BTVS. Harry is owned by J.K. Rowling, the WB, and Bloomsbury Books. BTVS is owned by Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, and UPN. Grr. Arg.

* * *

Chapter 14: Shadows and Revelations

_"To the modern man vengeance is a verb, an idea. Payback. One thing for another. Like commerce. Not with us. Vengeance is a living thing. It passes through generations. It commands. It kills." -Enyos, "Innocence"_

Hermione came to stay with them at the safe house the next day, arriving by cab with Lupin and Dung supporting her on either side. She was still very weak, and had to take a series of five different potions three times a day. While Willow magically adjusted Dawn and Ginny's room to accommodate one more, Harry lugged Hermione's duffel full of clothes and what seemed like all of her books up the stairs. Ron and Hermione followed him at a slower pace; Hermione had to use both Ron and the banister to support herself. 

Harry pushed open the door to the girls' room and hefted the duffel inside, dropping it carelessly next to the bed Willow had conjured. Hermione sank gratefully onto the mattress, breathing hard and looking flushed. She clucked in disapproval at the way Harry had handled her bag and gave him a frown before speaking. 

"Oh, I'm so glad to be out of that hospital. Ever since second year, I just can't stand infirmaries!" Hermione leaned back on the pillows and closed her eyes for a moment. 

Harry exchanged a glance with Ron, wondering if they should leave her alone to rest. Her eyes popped open again. 

"Reach inside my bag, Harry, and hand me that package there. Yes, that's the one," Hermione said when Harry held up a shoe box-sized brown package. Hermione lifted the lid and grimaced at the contents of the box. 

Harry and Ron watched worriedly as Hermione measured out careful doses of potion from the vials inside the box. She downed each one in turn, coughing and gagging so much that Harry wondered how that could possibly be good for her, whatever medicine they had given her at St. Mungo's. When she was finally done, Hermione sat back against the pillows once again and gazed at them expectantly. 

"So...?" she said expectantly, as if picking up the thread of a paused conversation. 

"Er, so what?" Harry asked, sitting gingerly at the foot of her bed. Ron chose to sprawl out on his stomach on Ginny's bed a few feet away, pillowing his head in his arms and staring morosely at the carpet. 

Hermione rolled her eyes, as if to say Harry should _know_ 'so what.' "_So_, what have you two come up with on the Ginny Situation?" 

Harry glanced nervously at Ron, who ignored both of them and began picking at a loose thread in the bedspread. 

"We haven't really talked about it, actually. We've been too busy being attacked and worrying about you to think about that just yet, haven't we?" Harry pointed out, shifting uncomfortably. He'd certainly thought about the situation enough, but he just didn't feel right talking about it with Ron. Despite his recent animosity toward his sister, Harry knew that deep down Ron couldn't think Ginny a traitor. It was hard enough for Harry to believe the things he had seen and heard recently, and he didn't even know Ginny all that well. Not now, at any rate. And then there was that kiss... Harry couldn't bring himself to tell his friends about that strange moment between him and Ginny, or the dreams he'd had about her, dreams that almost seemed to be coming true. He knew these were probably important things that Hermione, at least, would be upset with him for not telling, but at the same time Harry felt they were just too private to share, even with his best friends. And the fact that Ginny was Ron's sister only complicated the matter even further. 

The silence had lengthened to the point of extreme discomfort. Harry finally broke it by saying the first thing that popped into his head. "Malfoy sent her a knife. For Christmas." He could hear the bitterness creeping through his voice and winced at the sound of it. 

"A _knife_?" Hermione asked, perplexed and disgusted. "How very... morbid. And how very Malfoy. Why would he send her a weapon as a gift?" 

Ron continued to be stonily silent, but Harry could tell the conversation was upsetting his friend by the red glow sneaking up his neck and ears. "It's some sort of special knife," Harry told her. "The knife of some girl who was sacrificed to some god--an Indian god, maybe?" 

"It's the dagger of Amalia," Ron spoke up finally. "And it was her lover who killed her, or so the story goes." 

Hermione wrinkled her nose. "That sounds slightly familiar. Perhaps I've read about such an artifact. But that still doesn't explain why Malfoy would think to send Ginny something like that." 

"Isn't obvious?" Ron replied angrily. "It's meant as some sort of sick, twisted joke! It's a gift, and he's planning on _giving_ it to her!" 

"Oh, don't be ridiculous, Ron. You saw them at the club. Malfoy hardly looked like he wanted to hurt her." But Hermione continued to look perplexed. "What a strange gift to give someone like Ginny. Does it have any special powers? I've read that loads of old relics like that have mystical properties. Maybe I should do some research while I'm here. I bet Willow has some books that might prove useful." 

Harry found himself suppressing a burst of laughter, despite the tension in the room. Hermione had been out of hospital less than an hour and already she was starting a research project. "Giles is already on it," he told her, laughing out loud at her look of disappointment. "But maybe he'd like some help with the books. Something tells me you two would get along quite well." 

"We've only got a few days left," Ron said, shaking his head. "Forget about the dagger. We've got to do something about that spell Ginny's under." 

"_If_ she's under any spell at all," Harry muttered bitterly. 

Ron glared at him, but Hermione gazed at Harry thoughtfully. 

"Harry's got a point, Ron. We need to figure out if she's acting under the influence of some sort of Love Potion before we can take this any further." 

"Is there a way to do that?" Ron asked, standing up and beginning to pace the length of the room furiously. "Because I can't take much more of this! First Percy, now Ginny. And seeing her with Malfoy... it's enough to make anyone ill! Violently, disgustingly ill!" 

Hermione closed her eyes tiredly and sighed. "There's a way," she said finally, "a potion. But it'll be really difficult. Do you think it'd be all right if I just rested for now? We can talk about it later. I think one of those potions from St. Mungo's is a sedative..." 

Ron looked immediately contrite at his outburst. "Of course!" he said, a little too heartily. "Get some rest, then. We'll call you for dinner, eh?" 

Hermione nodded. Harry gave his friend one last lingering look before leaving the bedroom. He didn't know what he would have done, how he could've survived, if she hadn't. 

In honor of Hermione's release from the hospital, they had a small party that night at dinner. Several members of the Order turned up, including Lupin, Tonks, and Dung. Fred and George closed their shop early to visit, Apparating into Giles's tiny parlor without warning and nearly getting themselves attacked by Buffy, who, it appeared, did not take well to surprises. Fred and George spent the rest of the evening afterward jumping out at Buffy from behind various pieces of furniture in an attempt to incite a repeat performance, but she just rolled her eyes at them and refused to take the bait. 

After everyone had been sorted out and introduced, they all sat down at the table in Giles's rather shabby dining room, the only place large enough to hold everyone and the food. 

While Buffy, Willow, and their friends threw themselves into the impromptu party with a festive air of celebration, laughing and eating and talking loudly over one another, Harry couldn't help but feel like the rest of them put a damper on the whole affair. Hermione, still weak from the attack, slumped in her chair looking pale and rather tired, despite having rested most of the day. Harry frowned; he wished he really _could_ do something terrible to Snape for hitting Hermione with such an awful curse. Next to her, Ron was stewing in his own frustration and anger. He pushed his food around on his plate and glared at it as if his potatoes had grievously affronted him in some way. Fred and George were their usual exuberant selves, but they were expending all their energies on Ginny, who sat between them looking equal parts depressed and furious. She'd tried to talk to Hermione earlier in the day, Harry knew, and had stomped back down the stairs only minutes later, saying huffily that Hermione was pretending to sleep. 

"Was that Xander on the phone earlier?" Giles was asking Buffy. "Did he happen to mention when he'd be sending along that book from the Magic Box I asked for?" 

Buffy started guiltily and attempted a sort of lost puppy look on her Watcher. "Would you be upset if I said I forgot to ask him?" 

"Well, I can't say I'm terribly surprised. It's not as if books have ever saved your life or anything," he replied dryly. 

"Oh, who cares about moldy old books, anyway?" Dawn asked. "How's Xand? Are he and Anya making with the smoochies again yet?" 

Buffy gave her sister a disapproving look. "It's not ladylike to gossip." Then, conspiratorially, "But yeah, I think they are. _Finally_. He mentioned that alcohol was involved. Lots of alcohol. And he talked about the upswing in the economy--you know how much she likes money." 

"Aww, that's sweet," said Willow. "In a warped, Anya-ish, 'I'm only recently human' sort of way." 

"So, Harry," said Lupin from Harry's right. "How are you getting on with that diary I sent you?" 

Harry turned to face his old professor. "Oh! Well with everything that's happened, I haven't really had the chance to work on it yet." Harry shifted his gaze from Lupin's nervously. In truth, he had thought about the diary several times since receiving it two days before, but found himself too afraid to do anything about it. He missed Sirius so much, especially at times like this, when everyone was gathered together. It just felt like Sirius should be there, and Harry was worried that if he read the diary, it would only make things worse. What if he found out more things about Sirius that bothered him, as he had when he'd gone into Snape's Pensieve last year? He didn't want to remember Sirius as the arrogant, immature boy Snape had known. But most of all he didn't want to think about Sirius too much at all. Thinking about his godfather was painful and wrenching; it brought back all those feelings from last summer of heartache and fury and guilt and betrayal. 

Lupin had been silent for a long moment, watching Harry thoughtfully. "Don't try to rush it, Harry. When you're ready, well..." He smiled sadly. "I think you'll find it amusing, anyway." 

Harry was distracted by the buzz of the doorbell ringing from the front of the house. "I'll get it," he offered, thankful for an excuse to get away from Lupin's knowing gaze. 

"Wait a sec," Willow said, holding up her hand. She closed her eyes briefly and a few sparks flew from her fingers and dissipated into the air. "It's a human. Looks like some sort of solicitor. ? Do you guys have Girl Scouts in England?" 

"I'll just tell her we're at dinner then," Harry said again, already striding from the room. He had begun to feel claustrophobic, surrounded by so many loud, boisterous people. He breathed a sigh of relief when he reached the front hallway, thankful to be on his own for a few moments. The buzzer rang again, almost impatiently, and Harry swung open the door feeling slightly annoyed. 

Standing on the doorstep was a girl no older than six, clutching a ragged teddy bear and sucking on the end of one pig tail, tears sparkling in her eyes. 

"C-can you help m-me, sir?" she whimpered, the tears spilling over onto her cheeks. "I l-lost my mummy and I...I..." And with that the little girl burst into full-fledged sobs, hiding her face in her teddy bear and howling pathetically. 

"Er..." said Harry, who had very little experience with children. "I suppose you'd better come in," he offered. "Do you know your telephone number?" 

The little girl shook her head 'yes' vigorously and stepped over the threshold. Whereupon she threw down the bear, flashed a smile full of razor-sharp teeth, and with a loud crack, promptly turned into a gigantic purple demon with serrated black spikes poking out of its face. Harry did the only thing that seemed to make sense in the situation: he screamed. 

The demon growled and knocked Harry aside with one swing of its massive arm before lumbering off down the hall. Buffy came sprinting from the dining room, called by Harry's yell, quickly followed by the rest of the diners, who watched in dumbfounded silence as Buffy performed a flying kick at it. Her feet connected with the purple thing's chest; the demon merely rocked back on its heels a bit, while Buffy fell backward onto her bottom. Lupin pulled out his wand while Buffy scrambled to her feet, looking less graceful than Harry had ever seen her. 

"_Stupefy_!" Lupin yelled, sending a jet of red at the demon. It hit the demon straight in the chest, but the massive purple thing merely shook its head as if to clear it before advancing on the Slayer once more. 

"Weapon!" Buffy yelled out desperately. "Something big! Preferably sharp!" 

Giles ran into the parlor opposite looking flustered, while Buffy attempted hand-to-hand combat with the demon again. Spike leapt on the thing's back, apparently trying to strangle it into submission, while Buffy managed to land a series of kicks and punches to its head and chest. All of this slowed the demon down, but even with Spike hanging off its neck and Buffy blocking it in front, the demon was still managing to make its way inexorably into the house, further and further down the hall. 

"Buffy!" Giles called out, throwing a large, silvery object across the corridor. The blonde girl's head whipped about and her hand reached up automatically to snatch the thing from the air--a double-headed ax. 

Buffy grinned. "This'll do. Okay Barney. It's time to learn a new song. I call this one, 'Death Rattle.'" After a few moments of furiously exchanging blows with the demon, the combined efforts of Buffy and Spike seemed to be too much for it. It reached back to try to dislodge the vampire from its neck; as it did so Buffy swung the ax in a wide arc, neatly lopping off the demon's spiked head, which fell to the floor and rolled, coming to a stop only when it reached the toe of Harry's worn trainer. The demon's beady black eyes seemed to stare at him. Then they blinked. 

"Ugh!" Harry yelled, scrambling up from the floor and backing away toward the Slayer. "It moved! I think it winked at me!" 

Meanwhile, Fred was eyeing the demon parts speculatively. Harry shook his head; he didn't want to know what sort of trick the twins could possibly want demon bits for. 

"I wonder what that was about?" Lupin asked, kneeling down to examine the demon's head. 

"I thought you said it was human?" Harry asked, staring pointedly at Willow. 

She flushed. "It must've used a cloaking spell I couldn't detect. Harry, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have let you go..." 

Harry shook his head. "I was just surprised, that's all. At first it was a little girl, saying she'd lost her mum. Then once I let her in, she turned into that _thing_, whatever it was." 

George grinned and slung his arm around Harry's shoulders. "Harry's just embarrassed because he screams like a little girl," he said with a wink. 

Ginny giggled and Giles clucked his tongue disapprovingly. 

"It was a child at first, you say?" he said, speaking more to himself than to Harry. "Yes well, this may take a bit of research. If you don't mind, I'd like to head straight to my study to begin sorting all this out. This could be indicative of something much larger..." he trailed off, already moving down the hall. 

Buffy and Willow exchanged glances before Buffy shrugged and gave a loud, exaggerated yawn. 

"Well, I'm going to bed. If the apocalypse comes, I'll be in my room." 

The group scattered quickly after that. Willow and Ginny dragged the demon's body and its severed head onto the back lawn before Willow incinerated it in a magical fire. Dawn and Spike settled down in front of the television to watch a film, while Fred, George, and Lupin all Disapparated after saying their good-byes. Harry and Ron helped Hermione up the stairs, and the three of them remained silent until they reached the boys' room. 

Harry threw himself onto his bed with a muffled groan while Hermione and Ron settled on the other bed. All Harry wanted to do was go to sleep, after the day he'd had. Lately he felt like he couldn't get away from the tension and anger and constant fighting no matter what he did--sleep was his only real escape, and even then his dreams were littered with visions of Buffy's past and unnerving messages from the future. 

"So this potion you mentioned earlier," Ron said, his voice unusually grim, "when do you reckon we can have it done by?" 

"_Voir Vrai_," Hermione said, shaking her bushy head. "It's not just a potion, but a series of spells as well. Not for a while yet. The potion itself will only take a few hours to brew, but then it has to stew for two weeks, and the ingredients we need will be very difficult to come by." 

"We'll just nick them from Snape's private stores," Ron said promptly. "If we can convince him it's for a good cause, Dobby might even do it for us!" 

Hermione sent him a frustrated glare. "We're not stealing from Snape. _Again_," she told them firmly. "And anyway, it's not those kinds of ingredients we need. For one, we'll need something personal of Ginny's. And not just any little thing, it has to be something she really cares about and uses often. The more personal it is, the more certain we'll be able to say whether she's under some sort of spell." 

Ron sat thoughtfully for a moment before shaking his head. "All right, we'll think of something later for that. What else do we need?" 

Hermione sighed heavily. "Blood," she replied with a shiver. "_Voir Vrai_ requires some sort of sample of the person you're testing, like the Polyjuice Potion. But if we just use a hair or a toenail, it can only tell us whether or not a spell has been performed on her recently, and that's no good. She's got spells being performed on her all the time, during classes and things. If we use blood, the potion, when brewed properly and read with the correct Arithmantic equations, should be able to tell us not only if she's under some kind of spell, but which spell and how long she's been under its influence." 

Harry was impressed. Hermione's knowledge of seemingly _everything_ never failed to surprise him. 

"But how are we going to get some of her blood?" he asked. "We can't exactly walk up to her in the common room one evening and _ask_ for a pint." 

Hermione sighed and got to her feet. "We'll figure it out later," she told them, putting her hand to her forehead and rubbing it tiredly. "I'm just so exhausted. I don't know how I'll manage once school starts up again." 

"You'll feel better by then," Ron reassured her. 

After Hermione had left, Harry and Ron changed into their pajamas and got into bed, although it was still quite early. Ron's breathing grew deeper and deeper, until it turned into soft snores, while Harry stared up at the ceiling, trying to think up ways to get the ingredients they needed for the _Voir Vrai_ Potion. The whole idea of creating a potion from Ginny's blood suddenly seemed rather creepy to him. He'd done a lot of strange things with Ron and Hermione since starting at Hogwarts, but he'd never stolen from a friend, much less stolen _bits_ of a friend. Harry hated being in this position. He wished they could just ask Ginny what was going on, why she was going round with Malfoy and yelling at them and refusing to discuss Halloween... but he'd been through all that before. He'd tried to confront her and it had only confused him even more. 

Harry found himself fervently hoping that the potion worked and that it showed Ginny was under a love potion or spell of some kind. Because if she wasn't, how could he begin to explain her actions of the past few months? Unless he'd been right about Ginny's connection to Voldemort... and for once, Harry really didn't want to be right. It had been years since the Chamber of Secrets. If Tom Riddle really had poured some of his own soul into Ginny's, it would've manifested itself somehow before now, wouldn't it? 

Not wanting to think anymore, Harry swung his legs over the side of his bed, intent on a glass of water. He needed to get out of the room, just do _something_ to get his mind off of Ginny. He padded across the room and pushed the door open gently, shutting it as quietly as possible behind him so as not to wake Ron. Once in the bathroom, he rested his forehead against the mirror and shut his eyes, letting the coolness of the glass soothe his aching scar. Lately his scar always seemed to be twitching or aching; Harry wondered if perhaps part of the prophecy about him and Voldemort really meant that Harry couldn't survive while Voldemort lived because the headaches would drive him to the nut house. 

Harry jerked upright suddenly, shocked out of his reverie by voices that seemed to be coming from the walls. Listening intently, he heard an echoing voice that was nonetheless distinctly Hermione's. His eyes followed the sound until they found a small square vent in the wall near the ceiling. Hermione was arguing with someone by the sound of it, and Harry could hear every word through the vent that must lead to the girls' bedroom. 

"--can't keep doing this, Ginny! It's not right to shut us out like this! Harry was attacked today--you do realize he could have been killed?" 

"That thing was after the Slayer. It never wanted to hurt Harry," Ginny said, her voice low and shaking with anger. "And besides, it didn't have a chance with all the power in this house." 

"That's not the point and you know it!" Hermione replied. "Ginny, what about Malfoy? I've seen you with him, and... how can you do this to Ron? To Harry? Maybe they don't show it all the time, but they care about you a great deal, and seeing you like this is killing them!" 

"They _care_ about me?" Ginny replied scathingly. "Since when? Oh, I'll tell you when--since Halloween, when suddenly I knew something that they didn't! They only care now because they think I might be useful to them. They're using you too, you know. They need you to be clever for them, because neither of them is capable of figuring anything out on his own!" 

Harry heard Hermione's sharp intake of breath, then, "Harry and Ron are the best friends I've ever had. I _help_ them because I care about them, and they've helped me plenty of times in return! And anyway, do you honestly think Draco Malfoy is any better? I know you think you can, I don't know, _redeem_ him or something. But he's using you too, Ginny. Don't fool yourself into thinking he's actually your friend or that he somehow _cares_." 

"You don't know him, Hermione! All he's ever been to you is a caricature, some sort of convenient petty villain for the three of you to hate. But you've never bothered to try to get to know him, have you? To find out if there's anything to him other than what he shows the world?" 

"Right. Because all those times he called me 'Mudblood' and hexed me when my back was turned really inspired me to try to get to know the _real_ Draco," Hermione replied. "Ginny this is ridiculous. Let's just _tell_ Harry and Ron before they do something stupid. They're so worried about you, and I don't see why--" 

"No!" Ginny yelled. "I will _not_ drag them into this! It's my problem, and I will deal with it. It's bad enough that you know. Remember, I chose this, you three didn't! I've got help. I'll be fine. Just... can't you keep them out of my way? I hate fighting with them..." she trailed off, her voice sounding desperate and weary. 

"I'm sorry Ginny, but I won't do that," Hermione said, sounding equally tired but harshly determined. "I think you're making a big mistake trusting Malfoy, and--" 

"If I trust him, why can't you?" Ginny interrupted pleadingly. 

"That's the whole point," Hermione said, sounding as if she were about to cry. "If you trust him, then how can we trust _you_?" 

"Fine. Be that way," Ginny said, sounding equal parts petulant and sad. "I'm going to bed." 

"Ginny." There was no reply. Harry waited a few more minutes before sneaking back to his room, too curious and confused by the conversation he'd overheard to really feel guilty about eavesdropping. He lay awake late into the night, going over the girls' words in his mind, trying to figure out what it all had meant. The biggest question remained: what was it that Ginny was hiding from them and that Hermione was now hiding as well? And why--why--did Ginny place so much trust in Draco Malfoy? 

Harry waited all through the next day for Hermione to tell them about the argument she'd had with Ginny, but his friend remained strangely silent on the subject. Harry felt reticent about mentioning it himself. He didn't want Hermione to think he'd been spying on them, and she still looked so tired and sick. Somehow it didn't feel right accusing her of keeping things from them when she was still so ill and weak; Harry was keeping things from Ron and Hermione himself, about Ginny and about the prophecy. He couldn't very well get upset at her, when he was doing the very same thing. 

The argument haunted him nevertheless. More than ever he wanted to know what had happened to Ginny on Halloween and why she had been acting so strangely ever since. With that intense curiosity driving him, Harry was even more determined to discover the source of Ginny's sudden turnabout. Unfortunately the attack by the mysterious purple demon forced Giles and the rest of Buffy's friends into a flurry of research and patrolling. Hermione joined in gladly, and Harry and Ron had no choice but to help once Willow threatened to turn them both into rats. 

It was thus that Harry found himself sitting in one of the shabby armchairs in Giles's study the following evening, pouring through _Demons, Demons, and Even More Demons_ in an attempt to be useful. Buffy and Spike had left as soon as the sun set to search for clues and beat up the local snitches for information. Spike had seemed particularly cheerful at the prospect--the obvious pleasure he took in violence made Harry wonder if there really was such a thing as a reformed vampire. 

The book itself was surprisingly dull for something about evil beasts, and so far Harry had found nothing that remotely resembled a purple demon with spikes in its face that could disguise itself as a lost child. Across from him, Dawn was seated on the floor with a book open in her lap, another lying to her right, and a blank book to her left. In front of her burned a purple candle, and as Harry watched, Dawn took a fistful of herbs from a bowl next to her and began spreading the mixture into a complicated pattern on the floor in front of her. When she had completed her design, which to Harry greatly resembled a lumpy-headed goat, she picked up the candle and carefully touched the flame to the edge of the design. Purple light flared into life, springing up throughout the design and burning eerily in the dim light of the study. Dawn began chanting, reading from the book in her lap. The book to her right shuddered and the pages began to flutter, turning over on their own. To her left, words began to appear in the blank book, scrawling in black across the page as if by an unseen hand. Harry watched in fascination for a few minutes, but when Dawn simply continued to chant and the blank book continued to fill itself, he quickly became bored. He loved magic; the idea of it, the surging power he felt using it, the sense of accomplishment he felt when he mastered a difficult spell, but sometimes it could be very tedious. With a sigh and a last look at the purple flames, he turned back to his research. 

"Oh!" Ron exclaimed from his sprawled position on the floor in front of the fireplace. "I think I've got something! This demon can disguise itself as a child _and_ a puppy, and is known for trying to trick its way into unsuspecting people's houses..." He frowned as his eyes scanned the page in front of him. "Only it says here this demon is only about three feet high and eats primarily lint." 

"Yes, well, keep looking everyone," Giles said distractedly, pacing with a book open in his arms. "It is imperative that we discover what that thing was. It was a directed attack on the Slayer, that much is obvious." 

"Couldn't it have been a random attack?" Hermione asked, drooping tiredly in her chair with a stack of books piled next to her. 

"I-I'm afraid not," Giles said. "It is highly unlikely that a demon would randomly choose the house of a Slayer to attack. No, this attack had a motive. The demon itself seemed rather low-level, lacking in intelligence and insight. I believe someone ordered it here and paid it to kill the Slayer." 

"An assassin?" Harry asked. "Who would try to take out Buffy like that?" 

Giles took of his spectacles and cleaned them on his shirt tail. "It's happened before and it will happen again, I'm sure. To these people, or whatever they may be, the Slayer is a symbol, a sort of prize. Killing a Slayer is considered a mark of high honor in some circles. Spike, for example, killed two Slayers in his day. Vampires from all around the world make it a game, trying to kill the Slayer." 

Hermione shuddered. "It makes me glad I'm not a slayer. Super powers might be nice, but that would be awful, being hunted constantly by lunatic demons." 

"This one time, they held a whole competition in Sunnydale to try to take out Buffy and Faith," Dawn said. She had finished her spell as they talked and was cleaning up her herbs and candle. "Slayerfest 1999. Ironically enough, it was sponsored by the mayor of Sunnydale, who turned out to be a giant snake demon." 

"Sounds like the kind of fun that's _not_," Ginny said, looking ill. 

But Harry's attention was caught by the name that Dawn had let slip. "Faith?" he asked quickly. 

Dawn waved her hand in a dismissive gesture. "Another Slayer, called when Kendra was killed. But she's a major head case, turned seriously evil for a while. And I don't need to tell you that 'When Good Slayers Go Bad' isn't exactly your Fox special Friday night fun. She's safe behind bars now." 

"She's in prison?" Ron asked, shooting Harry a significant look. 

"No, we keep her in a cage and threaten to take away her exercise wheel if she misbehaves," Dawn replied sarcastically. "Anyway, it totally sucks for Buffy--since Faith is the active Slayer, there won't be any help for her until Faith dies. But on the bright side, I've heard prison can be a really vicious place. Maybe she'll piss off the wrong person and get shanked." 

Giles gave Dawn a stern look and clucked disapprovingly. "Yes well, as thrilling as discussing old times might be, need I remind you all that we've got a demon to find? Dawn, is that translation complete?" 

"Yes, Massah," Dawn replied with a curtsey. "Don't be such a meanie Giles. I have this recurring nightmare that you're the overseer from _Gone with the Wind_ and we're all your slaves. Then you order us to brew tea for you and wave giant fans in front of demons to keep them cool so you can examine them." Everyone in the room stared at Dawn in silence as she rambled. She flushed and tossed the translation to Giles. "If we're done here, I think I'll just go die of embarrassment in the privacy of my room." 

Dawn left, followed quickly by Ginny who claimed to need a nap to get rid of her headache, leaving Ron, Hermione, and Harry to continue researching the demon with Giles. After a few more minutes of trying to read the decidedly boring text in front of him, Harry could feel himself drifting off... 

Harry was in a room that greatly resembled the Hogwarts library with several long tables in the center. The stacks were on the second level, and seated on one of the tables was Willow, a crystal ball sparkling faintly in front of her. A circle made of bones, runes, and candles surrounded the ball—a sacred circle, Harry recognized. Giles, Xander, and the dark-haired girl from Harry's previous dream stood around the table, waving smoking herbs. Another girl with a long dark braid that reminded him distantly of Susan Bones stood near the doors of the library, tossing a stake from one hand to the other. Willow nodded to Giles and he opened the ancient tome he was holding and began reading. 

_ "Quod perditum est, invenietur." _

While Giles chanted, the dark haired girl waved a small bundle of burning herbs near the crystal ball. Willow tossed a handful of white objects that clattered loudly into the center of their circle--runes, Harry thought. She took a deep breath and nodded to herself as Giles finished his Latin chanting. 

"Not dead, nor of the living," Willow said. "Spirits of the interregnum I call. Let him know the pain of humanity, gods. Reach your wizened hands to me. Give me the sword--" 

And then the library doors burst open with a crash and vampires seemed to appear from everywhere at once. The girl standing guard leapt immediately into battle, taking on several at once and holding her own quite well. A vampire leapt onto Xander's back from the stacks, bringing him crashing down. 

"Get out! Go!" Giles yelled, motioning for Willow and the other girl to run out the back exit through the stacks. 

Giles joined in the fight, and Harry was surprised by how well the older man fought. The girl fighting with him couldn't be anything but a Slayer—she moved with the same unmistakable grace and power that Buffy did. 

Up on the second level, Xander tried to fight off a vampire to give the girls time to escape. Harry cringed at the sound of crunching bone as the demon snapped his arm. Gasping, Xander cried out. "Go!" he yelled frantically, trying to hold the vampire off with one arm. 

The girls ran, but before Willow could escape, another vampire shoved hard at one of the towering bookcases that served as the stacks, sending it tumbling straight into her. Willow went down with a strangled cry and was silent, still. 

Below, Giles and the Slayer were fighting a losing battle. A vampire hit Giles hard in the head, sending him sprawling. Hey lay on the floor of the library, unconscious, while the Slayer backed herself into a corner, surrounded on all sides but still determined to fight. Then from the front of the library, a tall, dark haired woman in a dress so red it accented the ghastly paleness of her skin strode forward, smiling slightly. She clapped twice, calling off the vampires. 

"Enough," she said. The vampires scattered, leaving the Slayer to face this new foe. The fight was quick. The tall woman, obviously a vampire, and a strong one at that from her show of strength, quickly overcame the Slayer, until she had the girl by her throat, slowly choking her. 

"Look at me, dearie," the vampire said, her voice strangely sing song. She held two fingers in front of the Slayer's eyes. "Be… in my eyes," she told the Slayer hypnotically. "Be… in me." 

The Slayer's eyes became glassy and unfocused. She stopped struggling and stood there, entranced. The vampire let go of her neck, continuing to stare into the Slayer's eyes with a small, amused smile on her pale, porcelain face. The vampire swayed from side to side; the Slayer mirrored her movements in an eerie dance. Harry wanted to scream, to run forward and attack the terribly beautiful woman in front of him, but he could do nothing but watch as the vampire flexed her right hand and prepared to attack. His stomach seemed to drop and he thought he'd be sick, wondering inanely if it were possible to be sick in someone else's dream. Then lightening quick the woman's arm streaked toward the Slayer, leaving behind a thin red line across the girl's slim throat. A bubbling, gurgling sound escaped the Slayer and Harry really was sick then. He fell to his knees and wretched--dry, gasping heaves that left him clammy and ghost pale as he watched the Slayer fall to the ground. She fell as gracefully as she had fought; everything seemed to grind to a halt for those moments that marked the warrior's defeat. 

"Night night," the vampire said, kissing the air in a mocking salute. The vampire turned from her, snapping her fingers at her minions. "Let's get what we came for, dears" she commanded, striding from the library. The vampires followed, two of them dragging an unconscious Giles between them. 

Harry thought the dream would end then, but instead he waited for several long minutes, watching with increasing rage and horror as the Slayer's life blood seeped into the floor of the library, congealing against the smooth skin of her throat and collecting in small pools on the floor, staining the end of her braid a deep rust. 

And then he heard it. Footsteps, running down the hall, coming closer and closer. The library doors burst open once more and a familiar blonde girl flew through them--Buffy. She threw herself onto her knees beside the fallen Slayer, her face a picture of conflicting emotions: grief, despair, hatred, and over everything else, immeasurable guilt. 

"Harry?" Willow's voice floated into his head, forcing him awake. "Harry, wake up." 

Harry's eyes fluttered open to find an amused-looking Willow standing over him. Straightening his glasses, which had slipped off his face to hang off his ear, Harry cleared his throat and grimaced at the stale taste of dinner in his mouth. "What time is it?" he asked groggily. 

"Past midnight," Willow said, shaking her head. "The others went to bed a long time ago. I stayed up to keep researching the demon for Giles. That was a big waste of time. But I probably wouldn't be sleeping anyway, so I thought I should be, you know, useful. I'm research girl, big time. Or at least, I used to be, before," she added with a frown. 

"Before what?" Harry asked, still shaken by the dream he'd had. He found himself wondering what Willow and the others had been doing before the vampires interrupted them. Some sort of spell, that was certain, but none he'd ever seen or heard of. 

Willow's eyes darkened and she looked away from him quickly before answering. "Oh, you know. In high school. Those were the good old days, just hanging in the library, researching the latest monster or apocalypse. Learning magic and fighting the bad guys." 

Harry had a strange feeling that she was lying to him, but couldn't say exactly why. She seemed so wistful and sad. He wished there was something he could do for her. The very idea of trying to comfort her made him uncomfortable. Shifting awkwardly in his chair, Harry instead decided to leave her be, since she obviously didn't want to discuss it, and he wasn't sure he wanted to know. 

"I guess I'd better get off to bed," Harry said, standing quickly. "Thanks for waking me. Good night, then." 

"Good night, Harry," Willow called out after him, looking strangely wistful and sad. "Sweet dreams." 

"Fat chance of _that_," Harry muttered to himself as he climbed the stairs. He climbed into bed a few minutes later, still thinking about the dream he'd had. He wondered how it was possible for him to be somehow inside Buffy's dreams. He'd had dreams that weren't really dreams before this, when he'd dreamed of Voldemort, but those had occurred through the connection they shared by the curse that failed. As Harry floated into a restless sleep full of shadowy images and disorientingly familiar scenes, he wondered what connection he and the Slayer had, that made this recent series of dreams possible. 

The next day, the day before Harry and the others were due to return to Hogwarts, Harry, Ron, and Hermione begged off researching Giles's demon with the excuse that they had homework still to finish before the start of winter term. Excuses made, the three of them locked themselves in Harry and Ron's room shortly after breakfast, Hermione's copy of _Most Potente Potions_ open on the floor between the beds, where it could easily be shoved underneath and hidden should someone happen to walk in on them. 

Hermione sat cross-legged in front of the book, leafing through its delicate pages, while Ron paced the room agitatedly and Harry lay on his bed, feeling both resigned and conflicted. He wanted to know what was going on with Ginny, whether or not she was under the influence of some sort of love potion, but at the same time he feared the results, because in his heart he suspected that Hermione, for once in her life, was wrong; Ginny was acting of her own free will, and that was the last thing Harry wanted to discover. If he was right, and everything that had happened with her this past year all led back to the Chamber of Secrets and Tom Riddle's diary... Harry shuddered at the thought. Hermione had to be right. There was no other option. 

"Here it is," Hermione said after another minutes of flipping pages. "The _Voir Vrai_ Potion. It says here that, when brewed correctly, _Voir Vrai_ reveals the true motivations of the subject—that's whoever's blood we put in the potion. It's very tricky, very finicky," she added, her brow furrowed in concern. She heaved a great sigh. "I suppose there's nothing to it but to try. If we don't succeed we'll know--the Arithmantical readings will be off the charts, indecipherable." 

"What do we need to do?" Ron asked, ignoring Hermione's lack of enthusiasm for the project. It was strange, Harry thought, staring hard at his friend. Usually Hermione would be excited about attempting a potion as difficult and complicated as this one, but now she seemed lackluster, as if she were only going along with it to appease Ron. Her attitude made him wonder again about the conversation he'd overheard between Hermione and Ginny. Could it be that Hermione didn't care about the potion they were considering brewing because she already knew what it would tell them? 

Pushing his misgivings aside--Harry refused to begin questioning Hermione's loyalty after everything that had happened this year--he tried to concentrate instead on what Hermione was saying. 

"As I said before, we'll need something of hers, a personal item she uses on a regular basis." 

"Will this do?" Ron asked, his voice grim as he rummaged through his trunk to pull out a shining silver knife with an elaborately carved handle--Ginny's dagger, the one Malfoy had given her for Christmas. 

Hermione frowned again. "How did you get that?" she asked. "Never mind, I don't want to know. I suppose it's personal enough, but does she ever use it? I was under the impression Giles was still studying it to discover if it had any mystical properties...?" 

"She uses it," Ron told her grimly, shoving the knife out of sight back into his trunk. "When I nicked it there was still blood on it. Who's or what's, I couldn't tell." 

Hermione's eyes slid from Ron's and dropped back onto the page before her. "All right then. But we still need some of her blood. The rest of the ingredients will be relatively easy to get--mugwart, shrivelfigs, daisy root... we'll need to wait for the full moon to pick some night blossoming oleander, don't know how we'll do that in the middle of winter, but I suppose Sprout probably has some in the greenhouses." She sighed heavily and shut the book gently, marking her place with a thin strip of leather. "We won't be able to start brewing until we get back to school. The full moon's not for another two weeks. If we can get the blood before then, I suppose we could start the readings in a little less than three weeks." 

Ron groaned and stopped in mid-pace. "Three weeks! That's ages away, and in the meantime Ginny will be back at school with Malfoy, doing Merlin knows what!" 

"Well I can't help that, Ron!" Hermione snapped, looking more alive than she had since her arrival at Giles's house. "We've got to wait for the full moon, and the potion itself needs to sit for a full two weeks before it will be ready for reading. I wish I had never suggested this in the first place! Stealing from Ginny, doing blood magic on her... it just doesn't feel right. It's just plain _not right_! She's got a right to privacy!" 

"Of course she does," Harry said quietly, amazed at the vehemence emanating from his friend. He'd never seen Hermione so upset about something like this before. "But she also has the right to know if someone's fed her an illegal potion, hasn't she? If it turns out she's not under a spell, then we'll return the knife and she need never know what we did. And if she is, then maybe we can figure out a way to help her. It's the only option right now, can't you see that?" 

Hermione stared at him blankly for a long moment before nodded. "I do," she said, "but I don't have to like it, do I? And how are we going to get her blood, anyway? It's not exactly the same as nicking a dagger." 

Harry shrugged, looking from Ron to Hermione and back again. Ron had remained silent during their exchange, but his emotions seemed palpable to Harry--excited, angry, frightened, and overlaying all of that, guilt over what they were planning. But Ron had that look in his eye, the one that Harry had come to understand meant that Ron would not back down, no matter what. He was determined to see this through. Harry sighed. "Will the potion see through a Sleeping Draught or a Stunning Spell?" 

Hermione nodded. "It will show up in the Arithmantical readings, of course, but if I know it's there, I'll be able to account for it when I'm calculating the Runic matrices." 

"Er, right," said Harry, who hadn't understood a word Hermione had said. "I was thinking we could give Ginny a Sleeping Draught, like we did Crabbe and Goyle back in second year. Or we could Stun her in her sleep. We could get the blood while she's unconscious--I think that's the best way to do it without alarming her to what we're up to." 

Hermione put her hand to her forehead and clenched her eyes shut. "I can't believe we're considering drugging one of our friends and stealing her blood." 

Harry stared at the coverlet on his bed blankly, lost in thought. What if they brewed the potion only to discover that Ginny was acting on her own? Harry swallowed hard, and his conversation with Buffy the night after the attacks came back to him suddenly. 

_"And... and if a friend ever turned, if you thought they'd betrayed you, what would you do then?" _

"I would kill him, if I had to. Kill him before he killed me or worse, innocent people." 

Would Harry be able to do it? If Ginny were truly a traitor, if it had been she who had betrayed their position at the safe house and allowed for the attacks that had hurt Hermione and killed Colin and the others, could he bring himself to turn her in or, worse, to kill her himself? It was one thing to kill an enemy, Harry thought to himself, picturing Ginny's laughing face in his mind, but what about someone he'd always thought of as a friend, almost as family? Harry thought of himself as a strong person. He'd been through a lot, survived a lot of terrible things. But he didn't know if, when the time came, he'd be strong enough to look Ginny in the eye and do what needed to be done. 

A/N: Coming up in chapter 15: Harry and his friends go back to school, Harry gets locked in a closet with Malfoy, and Snape directs a play. Or does he? 


	12. What's My Line?

A/N: Thanks to everyone who reviewed chapter 11! Your reviews really encourage me to keep writing. I can't believe it's been over a year since I started this... and I still have 10 chapters left to write. And thanks as always to my lovely betas, Anita, Tiffany, and Katie, without whom this story would probably suck.

* * *

Chapter 12: What's My Line

_"It's not cynical. I mean, it's realistic. Every guy from... Manimal down to Mr. I-Love-The-English-Patient has beast in him. And I don't care how sensitive they act. They're all still just in it for the chase." -Faith, Beauty and the Beasts_

King's Cross practically crawled with people as Harry, Hermione, Ron, and Ginny negotiated their way through the teeming crowds, guarded closely by Buffy, Willow, and Remus Lupin. People shoved along their trolleys, greeting family or saying good-bye to friends; among the throngs of Muggles the occasional wizard family stood out to the discerning eye, making their way surreptitiously through the crowd, parents inexpertly dressed as Muggles walking a pace behind their children, one hand tucked inside their shirt pockets grasping their wands as they gazed around the station nervously. Everyone was on edge, Harry thought as they made their way through the crush of holiday crowds returning from Christmas travels. After the attacks on Christmas Day, wizarding parents throughout the country were eager for their children to return to Hogwarts, widely considered the safest place in all of Britain. It was strange, Harry thought to himself as they approached the barrier between platforms nine and ten. He'd never actually taken the Hogwarts Express at any time other than the beginning or end of the school year.

"All right then," Lupin said, stepping forward to clap Harry on the shoulder, his other hand inside his jacket pocket, no doubt grasping his wand, "Harry, Ginny, and I will go through first. The rest of you follow as soon as possible without attracting too much notice."

Harry glanced up at the older man, whose graying hair and lined features were those of a man much older than Lupin's true years. Harry supposed being a werewolf did that; the stress of monthly transformations took their toll on Lupin's body, lending him the perpetual appearance of illness. Harry wondered not for the first time how awful it must be to suffer through those transformations. Lupin looked constantly tired, and often appeared as if one good gust of wind might just do him in. There had always been a sort of light in the man's eyes though, one that signified hope and humor and intelligence. That spark had dimmed since Sirius died. As they passed through the barrier, Harry wondered how he would feel, if he were in Lupin's place. If Ron and Hermione were both dead, and he the only one left to carry on fighting for the cause...

Platform 9 and 3/4 seemed to spring itself on him as it always did. Harry never failed to feel surprised and delighted by the sudden appearance of an entire magical platform that Muggles couldn't see, and the sight of the scarlet steam engine lifted his spirits somewhat. Harry waited with Lupin and Ginny only a few moments before Ron, Hermione, Buffy, and Willow all fell through the barrier, apparently having taken it at a bit of a run. Buffy turned to look back at the now solid wall of the barrier, shaking her head in amazement.

"Harry," Lupin said quietly, "come with me for a moment?"

Harry nodded and followed Lupin a few steps away. Lupin turned to him, his face serious and his eyes filled with concern.

"Listen Harry, I know I haven't always been there for you. After your parents were killed..." Lupin stared at the ground, taking a deep breath before raising his eyes once more to meet Harry's. "After your parents were killed, and Sirius was taken to Azkaban, I could barely take care of myself, much less a child. And then there was Dumbledore, telling me you'd be safer with the Dursleys. Oh, I knew what kind of people they were. I should never have let that happen but..." he trailed off. "There's no excuse for it really. And I just wanted you to know that I'm sorry."

"Don't," Harry said only. His throat felt strangely tight. He did not want to think about his parents or Sirius or what could have been--what _should_ have been. "It's not important now. And anyway, it hasn't been so terrible, living with the Dursley's..."

"Don't lie, Harry," Lupin chided with a sad smile. "I just want you to know that it won't happen again. Now that Sirius is... gone, I'm responsible for you, and I intend to take that duty quite seriously."

"I miss him," Harry mumbled, staring at his feet. He wasn't sure why he was saying this now, in the middle of a crowded platform, when he could barely allow himself to think about Sirius when he was alone. "I didn't... there was never enough time, you know?"

"There never is," Lupin said gruffly. He pulled Harry into an awkward sort of one-armed hug and ruffled his hair, making it even messier than normal. Harry didn't mind.

They walked back to the rest of the group, already busy loading their trunks onto the train.

"Have you tried to read that diary I sent you?" Lupin asked as they approached the others. Harry shook his head.

"I forgot about it," he admitted. "What with the attacks, and Hermione being in hospital, and then that weird purple demon..." Lupin smiled kindly, his eyes glinting with just a touch of mischievousness.

"You won't be sorry, I promise. Go ahead and give it a go. You never know--it might help."

Lupin said his good-byes, shaking everyone's hand and clapping Harry on the shoulder once more.

"Be careful," he told Harry in an undertone as the others boarded the train. "Keep practicing your Defense, and your Occlumency." He grinned and ruffled Harry's hair once more, as if he couldn't quite help it. "And give old Snivellus a hard time just once, for me."

Harry boarded the train grinning, feeling better than he had all holiday, just in time to witness Ginny's reunion with none other than Draco Malfoy.

"Excuse me, Professors," Malfoy was saying to Buffy and Willow as they stood on either side of Ginny, a disgustingly charming smile flashing across his face. "Could I borrow Weasley for a moment?"

Harry felt such a strong a surge of anger at the sight of the other boy's pale pointed face that before he had made the decision to do it, he was pushing his way between Buffy and Ginny, coming face to face with Malfoy. Without so much as a word of warning, Harry shoved the other boy hard in the chest. He felt as if his rage radiated from him in long waves of heat; Malfoy stumbled back, tripping on the hem of his robes to fall in a graceless heap at Harry's feet. Harry heard Ginny yell in protest distantly from behind him, but he paid no mind to her. The only thing that existed for him at that moment was Malfoy, who stared up at him, his grey eyes devoid of emotion, coldly appraising. Harry's anger only intensified at the sight of that cool gaze--that Malfoy could appear so uncaring, so indifferent, when Colin and Terry were _dead_, when Hermione had nearly been killed...

With a snarl Harry launched himself on the fallen boy. He wanted to rip out those eyes, to stop them staring at him without so much as a trace of regret for the lives he'd ruined. If Malfoy had shown even the least bit of humanity, of _understanding_, then maybe... but no. The next few moments passed in a haze of red--the slick feeling of Malfoy's skin beneath his fingers, Harry's nails gauging deep trenches wherever they could find purchase, the distant pain of Malfoy struggling beneath him, the immense satisfaction of his hands slipping in sweat and blood, followed by Malfoy's desperate whimper... and then black.

Harry floated for a few precious moments in black, consciousness swept away by the all encompassing oppressiveness of darkness. And then the lights came back on and the world looked as if it had been dyed red once more. He reached out a hand hesitantly to touch the color, gasping in surprise at the feel of velvet against his fingertips. He blinked and rubbed his eyes beneath his glasses, trying to clear his vision. The red was some sort of curtain, in which he seemed to be hopelessly entangled.

"Help!" he called out. "I seem to be lost." The sea of red parted suddenly, revealing Hermione's bushy head. Harry had never felt so relieved to see her.

"There you are, Harry," she said. Harry grinned foolishly. It felt as if it had been years since he'd heard that practical, bossy voice reprimanding him. "We've been looking for you everywhere! The play is about to start."

She helped him up and through the slit in the curtain. He brushed himself off, looking around. The curtain concealed a stage, upon which several Hogwarts students stood, along with Professor Snape, who was handing out parts on sheets of parchment, his usual sneer replaced by a disturbingly nervous grin. Hermione tugged him forward toward the group of students.

Ron was there, dressed as a World War II era general, complete with a very realistic-looking gun and several stripes decorating his chest. Hermione wore a sparkling crown and a poofy evening dress, and carried what looked to be a scepter, as if she had just been made Queen of England. Colin Creevey was there, snapping pictures as usual, while Draco Malfoy lounged in a metal folding chair in full Nazi youth regalia, his expression a picture of abject boredom. Ginny stood close to Snape, wearing a costume of animal skins and tossing her knife from one hand to the other with casual skill.

Harry approached Snape cautiously and cleared his throat. "Er, excuse me, Professor Snape, sir. I haven't got a part."

"It's hardly my fault you've lost it," Snape snapped, looking harried and frazzled, eyeing the curtain nervously. "You'd better know your lines, Potter. We're all depending on you, here."

"My lines?" Harry squeaked. "But I haven't even got a costume. We haven't rehearsed!"

Malfoy snorted. "You _missed_ rehearsal, didn't you? You great prat. Harry Potter thinks he's too good to practice like the rest of us. Well, this is what you get." His silver eyes flicked to Snape. "And you thought _he_ would make a better lead than me. I can't believe we're forced to depend on _this_." He waved a hand dismissively at Harry.

"Places everyone!" Snape called out. "Curtain in thirty seconds!"

The group of students scattered. Harry hurried after Ron, finally managing to grab the other boy by the sleeve.

"What is it now, Harry?" Ron asked irritably. "Can't you see I'm busy?"

Harry glanced anxiously at the curtain. "I can't do this! I don't know my lines. I don't even have a costume!"

Ron's eyes flicked up and down Harry's body. "Don't be ridiculous. That _is_ your costume."

Harry glanced down at himself. Instead of the robes that he normally wore, he found himself clad in his usual summer apparel: Dudley's old cast offs, baggy and worn thin with age and use, and his pair of old trainers, their uppers peeling away from the soles.

"But this isn't me anymore," Harry told his friend desperately. "I'm a wizard now. This is behind me." Ron let out a bark of laughter and clapped Harry on the shoulder affectionately.

"Good one, Harry. This is the real you. It always will be, no matter how famous you get or how many monsters you defeat." Ron gasped and backed away quickly. "It's curtain!" he said a loud whisper.

Harry turned just in time to see the red velvet glide smoothly to either side of the stage. On the other side, his primary school classroom appeared, filled with a mixture of Muggles and wizards alike: Piers Polkiss, Ginny, Dudley, Hermione, Ron, and even Pansy Parkinson were all there. Harry stared at them in shock, while they stared back expectantly.

"What's my line?" he asked, glancing around frantically for Snape or anyone else who might be able to help him.

The class burst into laughter. Hermione whispered something in Ron's ear, pointing at Harry, and Ron threw his head back and laughed in unrestrained mirth. The laughter seemed to go on and on. Harry had to shout to make himself heard over it.

"Stop!" he yelled. "This isn't me! I haven't got a part. It's not my fault!"

But the laughter continued to ring in his ears, so loud that he had to clap his hands over them to shut out the sound. Clenching his eyes shut, Harry sank to his knees, threw his head back, and screamed.

Harry awoke to the last person he ever wanted to have watching him in his sleep leaning over him and yelling in his ear.

"Sweet Merlin, Potter_! Do_ stop screaming before I knock you unconscious again!"

"Malfoy?" Harry croaked, squinting to make out the outline of the other boy hovering somewhere above him. The room was dark, the only source of light a thin bar of white beneath the door. Harry sat up carefully, trying to make out where he was while giving Malfoy a deadly glare which was no doubt lost on the other boy due to the almost total darkness of the room. All Harry could really make out was that wherever they were, it was a rather small, enclosed sort of space, and not at all the kind of place he wanted to be in with _Malfoy_ of all people. It seemed to be some kind of... Harry frowned.

"Why am I in a cupboard with you?" he asked suspiciously, searching his pockets frantically for his wand. This was undoubtedly some nefarious Death Eater trap to kidnap him and hand him over to Voldemort. That, or they'd gotten smart and finally decided to do him in when they got the chance...

"Don't bother searching for your wand," Malfoy said in a dull voice, sitting back against the door so that he faced Harry.

"Why?" Harry asked quickly. "What have you done with it, and do you _have_ to be touching me?" Harry asked, trying to rearrange his legs in the confined area so that no part of him brushed against any part of Malfoy.

Harry could sense Malfoy's glare, even if the darkness prevented him from seeing it.

"I haven't done anything with your wand. Anyway, it was you that attacked me! And now, because of your typical Gryffindor foolishness, Buffy and Willow have taken away our wands and locked us in this closet in order to work things out. This is all your fault, you know," he continued bitterly. "If it isn't bad enough that I'm now forced to spend time with the Boy Who Lived To Be An Annoying Git, you've also bloodied my nose. If it doesn't set properly because certain professors neglected to allow me access to proper medical attention," at this point he paused to pound his fist against the door, "then believe me, there _will_ be consequences. Dire, terrible consequences."

Harry stared at Malfoy incredulously. "They've locked us in here to _what?_" he asked. "Don't they understand that nearly six years of mutual hatred isn't just going to disappear if we chat about it for an hour? How thick can you get?"

Malfoy snorted. "That may be the first time we've ever agreed on something, Potter. Oh, well, I suppose I'm forgetting dear Ginny in that estimation."

Harry could make out Malfoy's smirk in the darkness. He fumed silently for a few minutes. He wanted to hit Malfoy again, to leap on him and wipe that stupid smirk off his face, but the space was so small that he'd probably end up damaging himself as much as he would Malfoy. His body ached from their previous tussle, and suddenly Harry was simply too exhausted to maintain his fury.

He sighed tiredly and let his head rest against the wall, shutting his eyes. Maybe he could use this time to rest, because there was no way he and Malfoy would ever actually work things out, whatever that meant. There was simply too much history between them, too much pent up hostility and downright hatred for that to happen, not to mention Ginny...

An idea came so suddenly to Harry that he gasped out loud, then coughed loudly to cover his gasp. Whatever secrets Ginny had been keeping from him... Malfoy probably knew them all. And perhaps, if he manipulated the conversation the right way, he could get Malfoy to reveal something.

As if no time had passed since Malfoy's last comment, Harry replied, "What is it between you and Ginny anyway? You can't honestly care for her."

"Isn't it obvious, Potter?" Malfoy said, his voice so self-satisfied that it made Harry grit his teeth in annoyance. "I would think that even you, with your entire lack of deductive reasoning skills, would have figured it out. Ginny is, well there's no way to say this that isn't going to sound crass... she's _easy._ She puts out. She's a regular lay, and although in theory I'm all for house loyalty and pride, she's a sight better looking than any of the girls in Slytherin." He shuddered delicately as if just imagining his housemates made him ill. "We're _lovers_, Potter."

"That's not true," Harry denied vehemently, although he had no proof of that.

"I've had her in ways you'll only ever be able to imagine, Potter, since I highly doubt any girl would willingly touch you with a ten-foot pole. And don't try to fool me. I've seen the way you look at her, the way your eyes get all glassy and your mouth forms into that dopey smile. It kills you that she'd rather be with me."

Harry's cheeks burned hotly, but he forced himself to stay calm. "She kissed me, did you know? On Christmas Day, right after she'd gotten your morbid knife thing. She's been in love with me for years. I saved her life--do you have any idea what that means? We're bonded, Ginny and I, for life--it's what happens when one wizard saves another's life. Only I don't suppose you'd know anything about that, considering that all you're interested in is killing."

"You're lying," Malfoy said, his voice low and dangerous. "She wouldn't...she'd never... you're just saying this to try to get to me."

Harry frowned. Malfoy sounded strangely vulnerable and--if it were possible for Malfoy to actually have feelings--as if he were hurt by the idea that Ginny had kissed him. Could it be possible that Malfoy actually did have feelings for Ginny, and that he wasn't simply using her for her connection to Harry?

Feeling more confused than ever, Harry shrugged. "Believe what you want. But what's between Ginny and me... you'll never be able to break that, Malfoy."

"How disgustingly sentimental," Malfoy sneered. Harry could see his lip curl even in the dimness of the closet. "Just remember this: you may have a bond with her, you may even have her love for all I know, but I have _her_, and I have her trust. Can you say the same?"

Harry swallowed painfully and shut his eyes against the sight of the boy sitting across from him. Malfoy was right. Maybe at one point Ginny had loved him, but he had gone and wasted that by treating her like a child, excluding her, ignoring her… and, he admitted to himself, alienating her by going after Cho last year. She didn't love him anymore--from the way she'd been acting since Halloween, Harry wasn't even certain she _liked_ him anymore--and she certainly didn't trust him. Harry could spout off about sacred wizarding bonds to Malfoy all he liked, but he knew it didn't really mean anything. After all, he had a similar bond with Wormtail, and that had helped him not a bit in that graveyard his fourth year. No, whether he liked it or not, Malfoy was right--he had lost Ginny's trust, had lost Ginny altogether, and it had been his own fault.

Feeling more confused than ever, Harry sighed and clenched his fists at the onslaught of emotions he was feeling--rage, pain, grief, hatred. He wished desperately for the train to arrive in Hogsmeade so that he could escape the stare of Malfoy's strange silver eyes. Harry could feel the weight of Malfoy's gaze like a heavy shroud. He had never hated the other boy more than he did at that moment. They sat in silence for the rest of the train ride. Tension, thick and nearly unbearable, spun between them like a web, the only acknowledgment that one another existed.

It was Hermione who finally let them out of the closet, wringing her hands and glancing warily from Malfoy to Harry and back again as they blinked owlishly at the sudden onslaught of brightness after hours spent in the dark. When the spots disappeared from his eyes, Harry saw that Ginny stood behind Hermione, her hands on her hips in a defiant stance. Harry got to his feet unsteadily, his muscles aching and sore from his cramped position in the closet. He glared at Ginny.

"This is all your fault, you know," he told her. "And honestly, I don't think much of your taste in boyfriends. But you know what, Ginny? If that, that slimy _git_ is what you want, then fine. Fine! You want to be left alone to join Malfoy's little gang of baby Death Eaters? Well we can't stop you and I, for one, am sick of trying!" Harry paused, breathing hard, aware that Hermione and Malfoy were both watching him with expressions of curious shock on their faces. Harry took a step forward so that he was only an arm's length from Ginny. He stared into her face for a long moment. Her eyes shone with pain and anger, and she looked ready to slap him. Harry found himself almost wishing she would, so that he could retaliate in kind.

Instead he clenched his eyes shut for a moment before leaning in a bit closer to whisper in her ear so the others couldn't hear. "I thought we could be friends," he told her, his voice low and harsh. "I thought we could even be something more. But now..." He gave her a look of pure disgust. "Now I don't even know you, and what's more, I don't want to."

With that Harry pushed passed her, sending her stumbling into the wall of the train corridor. He strode quickly away from them, refusing to look back, refusing to acknowledge the terribly hurt, saddened look in Ginny's eyes as he'd whispered those last few words.

Hermione caught up with him as he was rummaging through the baggage compartment, searching for his trunk. "Harry," she gasped, having run the entire length of the train to catch him. "What did you say to Ginny? She looked like she was about to cry! And you can stop looking in there, they've already taken your trunk and Hedwig's cage out to the carriages. We'd better get out there ourselves if we don't want to end up walking through the village to get to Hogwarts."

Harry felt a twinge of guilt at Hermione's words but pushed it firmly aside. What did he care if Ginny was hurt? She hurt him everyday just by being this new Ginny; by going round with Malfoy and defending him and kissing him and yelling at Ron and Harry and anyone else who cared about her. And, Harry had to admit to himself as he followed Hermione onto the platform, Malfoy had been right about one thing, at least. The thing he was most upset about was the fact that Ginny would rather be with Malfoy, one of her worst enemies, than be with Harry. It didn't seem fair that now, just when Harry was coming to realize that he cared for Ginny as more than just a friend or Ron's sister, she'd decided to go completely round the bend and become, well, evil.

Harry fumed through the entire carriage ride back to the castle, ignoring Ron's and Hermione's sympathetic, questioning looks as he glared moodily out the window. Finally, Hermione broke the strained silence by clearing her throat nervously.

"I want to get started on the _Vrai Vu_ potion immediately," she began cautiously. "That is, if you still want to do it."

"Of course we do!" Ron exclaimed, ignoring Harry's glare. "There's something wrong with Ginny, we can all see that there is. Maybe, if we know what kind of spell she's under, we can reverse it," he added hopefully.

Hermione shrugged her shoulders noncommittally. "It's entirely possible," she said, "but remember that Love Potions are nearly irreversible."

"She's not under any kind of spell," Harry said grimly, still staring out the window. "She just likes that disgusting, evil..." He trailed off, taking a deep breath. "She just likes Malfoy, is all. I think we should forget about the potion and just let her be."

"Harry, mate, what did Malfoy say to you in that closet?" Ron asked, his voice verging between anger and disbelief. "Ginny does _not_ actually like him. It's genetically impossible! And I refuse to believe it!"

Harry just sighed, his anger having quickly turned to sadness and disappointment. He should've known that the moment he decided he cared for someone, they would leave him--they always did.

"Fine," he said finally. "Let's do the potion. Hermione, you'll have to be responsible for getting the blood, because neither of us can get into the girls' dormitory. I think we should do it while she's sleeping."

Hermione nodded thoughtfully. "I can sneak in and Stun her while she's asleep. We'll only need a few drops of blood for the potion--a pin prick should do the trick. The Stunning spell should've worn off by morning, and she'll never know I was there."

"All right then. We can get started tomorrow. I want this done as quickly as possible," Ron said, a hard look in his eye. "The sooner Ginny is out from under this spell the better. And besides which," he added with a bit of a smile, "I don't fancy telling Mum why Ginny's suddenly gone Darth Vader on us."

Harry had a shock that evening in the common room when, in the midst of attempting to finish the holiday homework he'd left until the last minute, he was approached by Katie, Seamus, and Natalie, all three of them looking extremely uncomfortable. They exchanged nervous glances before Katie cleared her throat and stared expectantly at Harry. Hermione and Ron, who were playing chess at the next table didn't bother to look up, but Harry knew that Hermione, at least, was listening.

"Er, have I got something on my face?" Harry asked, wondering why they were staring at him. And then it hit him. "Quidditch! Damn. I'd completely forgotten. I suppose you're wanting to know about practice."

Natalie nudged Katie and the older girl shifted uncomfortably before speaking. "Well, that's just it, Harry. The thing is... it's just that..." Katie stared at the table, seeming unable to form a coherent sentence. Seamus swallowed and tried to help out.

"We're a Beater short," he blurted out. "Now that Colin's..." His eyes shifted to the far side of the room, where Dennis Creevey sat with a few other third years playing a lackluster game of Exploding Snap.

Harry stared at them, his mouth gaping open. In all the excitement and tragedy of the holidays, he'd completely forgotten that Colin had been on the Quidditch team. Seamus was right, they were a Beater short, and Harry could hardly imagine where they'd find a replacement this late in the season. He stared helplessly at his teammates' faces, not knowing what to say.

"I... well, I hadn't thought about it, actually," he admitted. He had tried everything in his power not to think about it, truth be told. He didn't want to think about Colin and Terry and the rest that had died Christmas day. But now that he was back at school, he supposed the reprieve was over; every time he had a class with Ravenclaw, he'd feel like something was missing, and every time he saw Dennis without Colin, his world would feel simply, horrendously _wrong._ But Katie and Seamus were right--he needed to start thinking about it sooner rather than later, because the match with Ravenclaw was only a month away.

"I suppose we'll have to have another round of trials," Harry said finally, shaking his head. "I don't know what else we can do..."

"Harry!" Hermione exclaimed, abandoning all pretense of playing chess to interrupt the conversation. "You're not honestly considering continuing to play for the cup after what's happened?" Almost everyone in the room turned to stare at them--Hermione had been quite loud.

"Er, well... yeah. I mean, we've got the match against Ravenclaw coming up. What else can we do? We'll never win the House Championship without winning at Quidditch."

"Come on, Hermione," Ron said. "Don't be silly--of course we're going to play. It's _Quidditch._"

Hermione stood up, glaring at them all menacingly. "That's just it, don't you see? This is exactly what the Sorting Hat warned us about--things like Quidditch that divide the school against itself! Well I for one don't think Gryffindor should play at all. All the house teams have lost a player except Slytherin. It's just not right, to continue competing against each other in silly games when people--when our _friends_--are dying all around us!"

"Are you mad?!" Harry heard a first year call out, followed by several other grumbles and murmurs around him. Harry shook his head.

"Hermione, we can't just stop playing. It'll just mean we forfeit, and Slytherin will end up winning."

"Oh, who cares if Slytherin wins the bloody House Championship! It's not important, can't you see that? It doesn't _mean_ anything!" Hermione cried out, her eyes filled with tears.

"Harry," a small voice said from the back of the room. The rest of the Gryffindors fell silent as Dennis Creevey pushed his way toward them. He paused in front of Harry and Hermione, looking sad and much smaller than Harry remembered. He stared from Hermione to Harry warily. "For what it's worth, I think Hermione is right. There's enough fighting and strife in the world already--can't we have this one place, this one time, to be at peace? I think..." he paused, biting his trembling lip as if to keep from crying, "I think it's what Colin would've wanted."

The common room erupted into a cacophony of sound, until Harry could no longer pick out one voice from another. Sighing, he stared from Hermione and Dennis to his teammates, who looked ready for mutiny if he said they'd forfeit the cup.

"I need time to think about this," he told them, packing up his things. "I just need to think..."

Harry lay in bed a few minutes later, the curtains drawn around him to block out the sounds of his fellow sixth years when they inevitably returned from the common room. He stared at the ceiling, thinking hard about what Hermione and Dennis had said. He wanted to honor Colin's memory, to show Gryffindor and the rest of the school that his and the other Muggle born students' deaths meant something, but he wasn't convinced that quitting Quidditch was the best way to go about it. At best it may help unify the school somewhat, but at worst, it would only give the Slytherins an all too easy climb to the top of the house standings. Harry's fists clenched involuntarily at the thought of Malfoy holding the Quidditch Cup in victory, of Dumbledore announcing that Slytherin had won the House Championship... despite Hermione's protestations to the contrary, Harry felt like the House Championship meant quite a bit, especially when it came to beating Slytherin. He could just imagine the look on Ginny's face if Slytherin won: she'd be sitting with Malfoy, and she'd cheer with the rest of them, and give him a kiss...

Harry frowned into the darkness. Was that what all this was about? Did he want to play Quidditch so badly because he didn't want Slytherin to win, or was it that he didn't want Malfoy to have that satisfaction, because he was... _jealous?_ Harry rolled onto his side and pressed his face into his pillow, trying to escape the thought. But he couldn't--no matter how hard he tried to avoid it, his mind returned again and again to the idea that he couldn't see the rightness behind Hermione's words, couldn't make sense of them, because he was, quite simply, terribly jealous of Draco Malfoy. He couldn't bear the thought that Malfoy, who had already taken Ginny, would take the Quidditch Cup and the House Championship as well.

Sighing, Harry clenched his eyes shut and tried to force his mind into some semblance of peace. He would decide tomorrow, he thought to himself as he drifted to sleep. There was always tomorrow...

Harry's dreams were troubled and scattered that night. He tossed restlessly in his bed as visions of battles and monsters flashed through his unconscious mind, brief glimpses of things he could barely grasp, let alone understand, snatches of conversation that hardly made sense...

... _Now that's everything, huh? No weapons... No friends... No hope. Take all that away... and what's left?..._

_...You think you can fight me? I'm not a demon, little girl. I am something that you can't even conceive. The First Evil. Beyond sin, beyond death. I am the thing the darkness fears. You'll never see me, but I am everywhere. Every being, every thought, every drop of hate._..

_...Angel, you have the power to do real good, to make amends. But if you die now, then all that you ever were was a monster..._

_...Dates are things normal girls have. Girls who have time to think about nail polish and facials. You know what I think about? Ambush tactics. Beheading. Not exactly the stuff dreams are made of._...

_...I lost a friend tonight. And I may lose more! The whole earth may be sucked into Hell, and you want my help 'cause your girlfriend's a big ho? Well, let me take this opportunity to _not_ care..._

_...Dawn, listen to me. Listen. I love you. I will _always_ love you. But this is the work that I have to do. Tell Giles ... tell Giles I figured it out. And, and I'm okay. And give my love to my friends. You have to take care of them now. You have to take care of each other. You have to be strong. Dawn, the hardest thing in this world ... is to live in it. Be brave. Live. For me._..

When Harry awoke the next morning his head was pounding and his scar itched uncomfortably. It was early yet. He could hear the sounds of the other sixth year boys that indicated they were still sleeping--the occasional snore or rustle of bed sheets as they tossed in their sleep. Harry stared at the ceiling, trying to remember the images from his dream. He had been in Buffy's dreams again, of that he was sure. There had been so much fighting and death and loss... he didn't understand how she had gone through all that and still managed to survive. If it had been him facing down apocalypse after apocalypse, having to watch his friends be injured or die or worse--turn on him... he didn't think he would have been able to handle it. Despite the headache the dream had caused, Harry was almost fiercely glad he'd had it. Seeing everything Buffy had been through reminded him of what was important in life: not Quidditch or winning the House Championship or beating Malfoy, but his friends and family, keeping them safe and doing as much as he could in the fight against Voldemort. Hermione was right, Harry thought grimly as he got out of bed and dressed hurriedly. Quidditch and house points--none of that mattered now. In fact, those were the very things that held him and everyone else back, creating false divisions in the school, creating enmity and discord in a time when everything would depend on strength in unity.

With that in mind Harry gathered his things and headed down to the common room. He wasn't surprised to find Hermione already there, sitting in her favorite chair by the fire waiting for him. The moment she saw him she seemed to know that he had come to a decision. She threw herself at him in a bone-crushing hug and sobbed against his neck.

"Oh Harry! I knew you'd make the right decision, I just knew it!" She pulled away from him and smiled sheepishly.

Harry shrugged, but felt secretly pleased by her reaction. "Look Hermione, just because I'm going to resign as captain doesn't mean McGonagall won't just go ahead and choose another one. It doesn't mean that the rest of the team or any of the other houses, for that matter, will follow my lead. But I do think you're right. I love Quidditch, but right now we've got more important things to be worrying about."

Hermione shook her head. "You're wrong, Harry. People _will_ follow you, just because it's you. You're a leader Harry. People look to you before making their own decisions. What will you say? How will you address the school? Maybe we should talk to Professor Dumbledore, see if he'll let you make an announcement..."

Harry shook his head. An announcement? Address the school? He hadn't thought that far ahead, of letting the school know he was resigning in such a, well, very public way. He'd just planned to tell his team and McGonagall, maybe try to get the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw teams to pull out of the Quidditch Cup. He hadn't thought of giving some sort of speech in front of the entire school.

"I don't think that's such a good idea, Hermione," Harry said finally, feeling a wave of panic wash over him.

"Well it's your decision, obviously," Hermione said, looking a bit put out, "but I really think you ought to make a big deal out of it, announce it to the whole school so that--"

"Announce what to the school?" Ron asked as he hopped the last few steps of the stair from the dormitory, looking mussed and still half-asleep.

"That he's resigning as team captain," Hermione said briskly. "And you should resign too, Ron. School unity is far more important than some silly game."

Harry suppressed the groan of frustration he felt at Hermione's words. Insulting Quidditch was the very last thing that would bring Ron to their way of thinking. Ron stared at them both incredulously, his mouth gaping open in a manner that would have been comic if the situation weren't quite so serious.

"You're resigning?" Ron sputtered. "_Resigning?!_ That's just... it's ridiculous is what it is! Quitting Quidditch isn't going to bring Colin back, Harry! It's not going to do anything except let that git Malfoy get his slimy paws on the Quidditch Cup!"

"You're wrong, Ron," Harry said tiredly. "Look, can't we just go down to breakfast? We'll talk about it later."

Harry spent the better part of the meal trying to avoid the looks his friends were giving him, Ron's angry and Hermione's pleading. He'd talk to McGonagall after Transfiguration, he decided. They had it first thing Mondays, and he had a break directly afterward, so he'd be able to discuss his decision at length with her. Then he'd have to talk to Ron and the rest of the team, and try to convince them... for a moment Harry wondered if it was worth all the trouble, just to make a statement.

Harry's thoughts were interrupted by a low, drawling voice from behind him. "So, Mr. Potter," Snape said loudly, so that his voice carried across the hall. The chatter around him died down as Harry turned to face his professor. "It seems that you attacked one of my students unprovoked in a rather revolting display of Muggle dueling."

Harry narrowed his eyes at Snape and stood from the table. "I rather thought, _sir_," Harry said, trying to stay calm, "that his very existence was provocation enough."

Hermione gasped and Ron snorted, but the rest of the hall fell eerily silent at his words. Even Professors McGonagall and Dumbledore had paused in eating their breakfasts to watch the confrontation with concerned eyes. Snape's face turned a molted red-purple color and his lips thinned to near nonexistence, the corners of his mouth white with rage.

"Detention," he hissed, his black eyes snapping and fever bright, "for a month! And seventy-five points from Gryffindor!"

A collective gasp came from the Gryffindor table as they turned almost in unison to watch the rubies fly from the hourglass that marked their house points. Harry simply shrugged, an idea coming to him suddenly. Against his will, Snape had just provided Harry an excellent opportunity to make his point.

"Take the points, take them all for all I care," he told Snape in a quiet voice that nevertheless carried throughout the hall. "Do you really think it matters-- points, or who wins the Quidditch Cup, or the House Championship? Look around you, sir! We're at _war._ A few days ago two of my housemates _died_, and I'm supposed to care about points and petty house rivalries?" Harry looked around the room at the silent, shocked faces of his schoolmates. He raised his voice so that he could be sure his next words would be heard. "Well _I don't care._ None of these things matter. What matters is defending ourselves, doing whatever we can, whatever possible, to fight against Voldemort and his Death Eaters. And while we remain divided by these false separations of houses and points and competition, then we'll never be strong enough to fight."

"You're children," Snape hissed, looking very much as if he wanted to smack Harry. "The war is not your concern. It is ours to wage."

"You're waging the war," Harry replied, his own anger rising, "but we'll be the ones to fight in it! And how can we fight Voldemort when we're too busy fighting each other?" He looked around the room, trying to gauge whether or not his words were having any effect at all. Some of the students were nodding as if they agreed with him. Others--mostly Slytherins, but some people from other houses as well--were smiling in delight, probably wondering how many more months of detention Snape would give him for this. But most of them simply looked confused and uncertain and suddenly, Harry realized why. He had not given them a solution to the problem of division...

Harry took a deep breath and, with a nod of encouragement from Hermione, spoke again. "I quit," he announced simply. "I quit the Quidditch team, and I quit Gryffindor. I love my house, and maybe in different times, in better times, it would be all I needed. But these are not those times. A reckoning is coming, coming soon, and we all know it. And when it comes, bravery won't be enough to see me--to see any of us--through. What is courage without intelligence, without loyalty, without cleverness and drive? On the battlefield it will mean nothing. Gryffindor, Slytherin, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw... these are meaningless categories that only distance us from each other. We all lost friends this Christmas, and we'll lose more if we continue to fight amongst ourselves. You can join me or not," he finished in a low, harsh voice, "but either way I refuse to recognize the divisions between us. We're all wizards in brotherhood and _that,"_ he said with a meaningful glare at Snape, "is what matters."

Without making a conscious decision to do so, Harry reached up and ripped the Gryffindor badge off his robes. He lit it on fire with a murmured word and a flick of his wand. The school watched in stunned silence as it burned. Harry strode from the Great Hall, too filled with emotion to look back.

"You burned your badge!" Hermione whispered in a voice that was both horrified and delighted when she caught up with him ten minutes later outside the Transfiguration classroom. "You burned your badge, and Snape's given you a month's worth of detention!" She rang her hands nervously before launching herself at Harry, giving him yet another bone-crushing hug. "Oh, Harry, you were wonderful! I wouldn't be surprised if everyone turns up without their house badges."

Hermione was only half-right. When the rest of the Gryffindors arrived for Transfiguration, followed quickly by McGonagall, who gave him a strangely closed look as she passed by his desk, many of them had, indeed, removed their Gryffindor badges. Neville, Dean, Parvati, and Lavender all arrived in class without badges, reminding Harry forcibly of first year, when they'd all arrived at Hogwarts un-Sorted, nervously waiting for an old hat to tell them were they belonged. Harry was stricken to see that both Ron and Seamus still wore their badges, and both of them seemed content to glare at Harry through the entirety of McGonagall's lesson on Conjuring spells. Harry tried to concentrate on the lesson, blocking out Seamus and Ron as best he could. As Conjuring spells proved to be extremely difficult, taking up all of his concentration, Harry found the task of ignoring his teammates much easier than he expected.

"Don't worry about Ron," Hermione whispered to him as he struggled to Conjure a tea cup. Hermione had already successfully Conjured an entire matched tea set and was attempting to help Harry. "He'll come around, once he realizes how important this is."

Harry nodded, brushing his hair out of his eyes and staring intently at the space in front of him. He waved his wand in the complicated manner McGonagall had shown them at the beginning of class, furiously imagining Trelawney's pink patterned tea cups as if he could make one appear by sheer force of will. He whispered the spell and to his great surprise and Hermione's delighted squeal of appreciation, a delicate cup and saucer materialized out of thin air on the desk in front of him.

"There you go, Potter," McGonagall said from behind him. Harry turned with a grin, feeling very pleased with himself that he'd managed such a tricky bit of magic. McGonagall raised her eyebrows at him. "Normally I'd give ten points to Gryffindor, but I suppose under the circumstances..." she trailed off with a thoughtful look, then, with a wave of her wand, produced a small, coin-like object out of thin air and handed it to Harry. "That's the ticket," she said. "Carry on."

As she turned to watch Parvati attempt to Conjure, Harry examined the object she had given him. It was indeed very coin-like, greatly resembling a sickle, but instead of the usual engravings on the face of the metal, a curvy bit of writing scrawled across it: _Get out of detention free pass._ On the back of the coin was McGonagall's distinctive signature, which Harry recognized from his Hogwart's letters. Hermione took the coin and examined it, finally handing it back to him with a snort of satisfaction.

"Excellent," she told him in an undertone as she Conjured a cup and saucer to match Harry's, complete with steaming tea, "now you can get out of detention with Snape tonight. I've got everything we need for the potion aside from the oleander. We need to start putting it together tonight, before the blood dries."

Harry looked around at Ron, who was sweating furiously as he waved his wand, trying to Conjure his own tea cup. "What about Ron? He's got the dagger, and he won't want to be around us now. Maybe we should just let him get on with it..."

Hermione shook her head. "I told you, Harry, he'll come around. And besides, this potion... it's been known to go terribly wrong in the past. The pictures in _Most Potente Potions _of wizards who've botched it aren't pretty. And Ron wouldn't be able to read it anyway--he wouldn't know an arithmantic equation if it walked up to him in Buffy's leather trousers. If we're going to do this, it'd better be me."

Harry watched Ron worriedly, wondering if Hermione was right. That time during his fourth year when Ron had refused to speak to him... Harry didn't know if he could take another term like that one. He turned back to his tea cups as Hermione took a sip from her own. She promptly spit out the liquid, her face scrunched up in distaste.

"Ugh. It's terrible! I'll have to work on that, I suppose. Dumbledore makes it look so easy..."

As Hermione went back to her own work, Harry could only hope that Ron would come to his senses soon. With a month's worth of detentions from Snape to deal with along with everything else, Harry knew he'd need all the support he could get in the coming months.

That night Harry made his way from the dungeons, where he'd given a disgruntled Snape his detention pass, to Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, where Hermione was waiting for him, her cauldron already set up in the far right-hand stall. To his surprise, Ron was there as well, still wearing his Gryffindor badge, but looking resigned.

Harry stopped dead when he saw his friend, his eyes flicking back and forth between Ron and Hermione trying to assess the situation. After a few moments of silence, Ron finally spoke.

"Look mate," he said in a flat voice that sounded a bit as if he had memorized what he was saying, "I know you're only doing what you think is right. And just because we're friends doesn't mean we have to agree about everything, right? We've got more important things to worry about, right?"

"Exactly," Hermione said, although the subtlety seemed to be lost on Ron, who nodded gratefully. "Well," Hermione continued, looking around at the bags of ingredients on floor of the bathroom and consulting her book, "I think we've got everything we need. We have a week before the oleander will be ready to pick, but this way we can have everything ready to go when--"

She was interrupted by a voice from behind them that made Harry jump slightly at its close proximity to his ear.

"Hello, Harry," Moaning Myrtle said. Harry spun around to find the ghost almost directly behind him. With a start of surprise he took several steps backward. Myrtle pouted. "Making potions again, are we?" Myrtle asked slyly.

"Oh, hello Myrtle," Harry said, ignoring her question. "How've you been?"

"Lonely," Myrtle said petulantly. "No one ever comes to visit me anymore, except that nasty Slytherin and his girlfriend, but of course they're too busy to talk to poor, moaning Myrtle. Everyone's too busy to talk to me," she complained.

Ron's eyes narrowed as he stared at the ghost. "Myrtle," he said nonchalantly, "do you know which Slytherin it is that comes here?"

Myrtle's pearly face seemed to brighten a little in what Harry thought must be a ghostly blush. "I don't know his name, of course, because he would never notice someone like me," she said, her voice a little dreamy, "but he's got very pretty blond hair. His girlfriend seems to consider him _quite_ the kisser, I can tell you that much."

Ron turned red and began muttering under his breath. Harry stared at Myrtle, confused.

"But Myrtle," he said, "why would anyone come to a bathroom to snog, when there are plenty of nice, _unhaunted _broom cupboards in the castle?"

Myrtle gazed at him, a shrewd look in her eye. "They don't just come here to kiss, Harry. They talk too. I've heard your name mentioned quite a number of times, actually."

Hermione gasped. "What do they say?" she asked quickly.

Myrtle folded her arms across her chest and floated up to the ceiling. "I don't think I'll tell you," she said, turning her back on them. "It's not polite to gossip about other people."

"You're the one eavesdropping on private conversations," Ron pointed out angrily, glaring at the ghost's back.

Myrtle let out a high pitched wail and turned back to face them. "Why don't you just _go away_ and leave me alone?" she cried out. "You three are terrible--you only ever bother with me when you think I may know something! Well I'm not letting myself be used by you any longer!" And with that Myrtle swooped dramatically into her stall and disappeared down the toilet with a loud splash.

"That's odd," Harry said, staring after the ghost. "Ginny said almost the exact same thing to us over break. Remember, Ron?"

Ron shrugged dismissively. "Yeah. Let's just get going on this potion. The sooner this is all over, the better."

Harry received a shock when he walked into the Defense classroom the next afternoon, expecting to see the usual arraignment of stuffed dummies and assorted weapons, only to find himself on the moon swept lawn of a graveyard. Buffy sat perched on one of the headstones, casually sharpening a stake as she waited for the rest of the class to arrive. When the door finally shut behind the last person, Buffy hopped off the headstone and indicated that they should all gather around her.

"As you probably noticed, we're not exactly in Kansas anymore." Most of the students stared at her blankly. She shook her head sadly and continued on. "So, who can tell me what we're doing today?"

Padma Patil raised her hand. "Isn't it obvious? You're doing another demonstration of vampire fighting."

Buffy grinned. "Not so much. _You're _going to fight. I'm going to sit here and look pretty."

"Excuse me, Professor," Lavender asked hesitantly, "but do you mean we're going to fight actual vampires? Isn't that a bit, well, terribly dangerous?"

Buffy rolled her eyes. "Yes, the Headmaster has agreed to let me put you all in mortal danger, but strictly for educational purposes. You're a poster girl for courage, Lavender," she said sarcastically. "I'm the Slayer. I save people, I don't get them killed. My powers can only be used for good. And for intimidating people I don't like. And occasionally opening a really tight jar." Some of the class laughed, but most looked too nervous to do anything but smile weakly at Buffy's attempts at humor.

"As I was saying," Buffy continued, "Professor Dumbledore set this up so you guys can fight some actual vampires. It's sort of like one of those holo-whatsits from Star Trek..."

"Holodecks?" Hermione supplied. Harry gave her a surprised, laughing look--he hadn't know Hermione was a Star Trek fan. He'd only seen the program once or twice. Dudley didn't generally go in for science fiction unless it involved nudity of some kind.

"What?" Hermione whispered to him in a defensive tone. "Jean-Luc Picard is sexy!"

Harry coughed to cover his laughter. "He's bald!" he whispered back. Hermione flushed and shook her head at him, then began staring raptly at Buffy, as if intensely interested by what she was saying.

"Right, the holodeck. So everything will seem real here, but it's not. The vampires are illusions, that will act like vampires and die like them, but aren't really vampires, if that makes sense. So even if you get bitten, you won't get bitten. Okay, now I'm confusing myself," Buffy said with a little shake of her head. "Anyway, it won't come to that, because I'll be here to stop it. I just have to say the word, and the scenario will freeze. So, who wants to go first?"

To Harry's surprise, Ron volunteered immediately. In fact, he seemed almost excited at the prospect of facing a blood sucking creature of the night. Buffy tossed him the stake she had been sharpening when they came in and told everyone to stand back to give Ron some room.

"Now, normally I'd say using magic is cheating," Buffy told him, "but always remember the first rule of slaying: use everything in your arsenal. Whatever you happen to have on you--stake, bottle of holy water, bucket of shrimp--find a way to make it work for you."

"Er, bucket of shrimp?" Harry asked. "How could that possibly be useful against a vampire?"

"Hey, don't underestimate the power of shrimp. I'll have you know that many people are extremely allergic to our shellfish friends."

"Right," said Ron. "I'm ready. Let's go."

Buffy clapped her hands twice and the graveyard suddenly sprang to life, as if it had been a movie on pause and was now playing again. Wind rustled through the trees, a few nighttime birds chirped cheerfully, and at the foot of the freshly dug grave, the ground began to churn. When the vampire managed to crawl out of its grave a few moments later, Ron was ready for it. He aimed a well placed _Incendio_ charm at it, but the creature dodged it easily in a graceful side roll--it was apparently a little too fast on its feet for Ron to dispose of it so easily. Muttering, Ron tucked his wand up his sleeve and rushed the vampire, engaging it in a rapid-fire series of kicks and punches. Ron had a slight advantage of being much taller than the vampire and having a much longer reach, but the vampire more than made up for it with its superior strength and speed. It wasn't long before the vampire had wrested Ron's stake away from him and knocked him to the ground, preparing for the kill.

Just as Ron was beginning to look truly panicked, Buffy paused the scenario by clapping her hands three times. "That wasn't bad for your first time," she told Ron, offering him a hand up. "You play Keeper, right?" she asked him. At his nod she told him thoughtfully, "You should use that. There was a moment at the beginning when you almost had him with that spell. You have to anticipate his moves--he was going to dodge the second he saw your wand. If you had aimed your spell for where you thought he might be heading instead of where he was, you could've smoked him. Okay, who's next?"

Buffy forced each one of them to take on the vampire, giving them pointers and suggestions after each failed attempt. No one managed to stake it or even land a successful spell on it. When they left the classroom, they were covered in bruises and physically exhausted, but Harry had earned another detention pass for which he was extremely grateful, as the professors were already piling on the homework only two days into the new term.

McGonagall's detention pass idea seemed to spread throughout the school like wildfire, so that by Thursday of their first week back, all of the professors were equipped with stacks of the silver coins which they began to give out rather than points. Harry had yet to serve a detention with Snape, and when the first Potions class of the term rolled around that morning, he approached the dungeon classroom with a feeling of trepidation and nervousness. His confrontation with Snape had been the talk of the school all week, and Harry had a shrewd idea that the Potions professor most likely wasn't dealing well with the attention it had garnered him.

Harry took his seat next to Hermione, pulling out some parchment and a quill from his bag in preparation for the ridiculous amount of notes Snape always made them take. All of the Slytherins, Harry noticed, still wore their house badges, although he hadn't really expected them to follow his lead. Most of the students from other houses had retained their badges, in fact, but the sight of the Slytherin snake on Malfoy's robes seemed to mock him now more than ever. Harry almost wished Malfoy would give him an excuse, any excuse, to have another go at him.

"All right class, settle down," Snape said idly from behind his desk as the front of the room. Malfoy, who'd been laughing at something Pansy Parkinson had said--or more likely, Harry thought, at Pansy herself--gave the girl a sly wink and turned to face the front. Harry glared at the other boy's back. If it had been Harry giggling like a loon at Hermione, Snape would've given him detention, not nodded indulgently. Why did Snape favor Malfoy so much anyway, now that his father's loyalties had been revealed? Everything seemed to lead back to Malfoy lately: Ginny's betrayal, the attacks on Christmas day... A sharp elbow jabbing into his ribs snapped Harry out of his reverie.

_Pay attention!_ Hermione mouthed at him.

"Miraculous though it may seem," Snape told them with a disbelieving sneer, "you have all managed to pass Fall term. This winter we will be starting the Unknown Laboratory. Each of you will be given a sample of a potion. You will have class time to work out the ingredients in your sample and research the possible potions those ingredients could create." Snape's dark, beady eyes swept over the students' faces with a glare. "Use your samples wisely—you will receive one and _only one _vial You will each be allowed three guesses as to what your potion is. Each incorrect guess will cost you a letter grade, and after three you will automatically fail. And for Merlin's sake, don't test them on yourselves unless you wish to die painful deaths, possibly covered in boils and fur! Now, who can tell me what one would add to a mixture to determine the presence of moonstone?"

They spent the rest of the class taking notes on the various ways to test for specific common potions ingredients. Harry was surprised to discover that such processes existed, although now that he thought about it, the idea made a lot of sense--how else could Healers discover antidotes? Some of the tests were surprisingly simple; to test for stinksap, for example, one simply boiled the sample down. If the sap was present, it would immediately begin to reek with its distinctively pungent smell.

At the end of class, Snape handed each of them a stoppered vial carefully labeled with their names in his own spidery scrawl. "And be warned," he told them darkly, "I've put Anti-Tamper Charms on these vials. No one but the person whose name appears on the vial can touch it. This means, Mr. Potter, that Miss Granger won't be able to do your work for you this term." With that Snape dismissed the class. Harry stowed his vial in the student cupboard with shaking hands and forcibly suppressed the urge to curse Snape right there. Hermione and Ron exchanged glances before each grabbing one of Harry's arms and leading him from the dungeon classroom.

Harry yanked his arms from their grasp the moment they escaped the room. "Why do you always do that?" he demanded angrily. "I'm not some first year who can't control his temper enough to take care of himself!"

Hermione looked stricken, as if he'd slapped her. Ron merely turned red and glared right back at him. "Harry," Hermione began, "we didn't mean--"

"No!" Harry cut her off. "You've got no idea--none!--what I go through. You've got no clue what it's like to have a constant death threat hanging over your head, to--"

"Oh no," Hermione interrupted, her eyes suddenly flashing in anger, "because no one's ever tried to kill me. No one's ever threatened my family or tried to do me in." Her voice was full of bitter sarcasm and tears. She shook her head. Harry felt frozen in place at her words. He didn't know how to respond. "Snape's right, Harry--you _are_ arrogant. Not everything is about you." Her voice was calm now, but she enunciated each word very clearly. "Come on, Ron. We'll miss dinner."

Harry watched his friends disappear down the corridor, his thoughts jumbled and confused. Was Hermione right? Was he arrogant in thinking himself Voldemort's main target? But she didn't know about the prophecy, about his destiny, about any of the pressures he was under...

The sound of someone behind him clapping made Harry spin around in surprise. Malfoy leaned casually against the wall beside the classroom door, a delighted sneer on his face. Harry fought the urge to go for his wand, settling for pinning the other boy with a look of sheer hatred.

"Malfoy," he said, "is your own life so boring that you have to stick your pointy face in mine?"

The sneering smile slipped from Malfoy's face and he straightened. "Look, we've never been friends, which is good because absolutely loathe you. But you have on occasion saved the world, so I'm going to give you some advice. Lose the attitude. Whatever's causing it, whatever it is that's got your knickers in a twist, get over it. Because pretty soon you won't even have the loser friends you've got now."

Before Harry could respond Malfoy was gone, his robes whipping around the corner of the corridor that led to the Slytherin common room.

After several unproductive hours in the library during which Harry stared at his Charms text and failed to write a single word of his essay, he gave up trying to work and packed up his things. His anger was spent; all he'd been able to think about for the past two hours was the looks on his friends' faced when he'd blown up at them. Ron's entire face had burned red and Hermione--she's just looked resigned, as if she'd been expecting something like this all along, which she probably had. With a sigh Harry swung his bag onto his shoulder and left the library, determined to find his friends and apologize, make things right with them again.

By the time Harry reached the common room, he'd worked himself into a nervous mass of guilt and remorse. How could he have treated Ron and Hermione like that? They were his best friend--his only friends, really. If he was honest with himself, Harry had to admit that for once, Malfoy was right. He needed to fix things with his friends, or he'd lose them completely.

The common room was packed when he arrived. The fifth years were in a panic over the amount of homework they'd gotten in their first week back. Jack Sloper had taken over an entire table; Harry could just make out his shock of blond hair over the towering pile of books in front of him. Even Ginny, who hadn't been seen studying in the common room since the beginning of the term, was there looking frustrated and tired as she alternated between flipping through reference books and scribbling on a long roll of parchment. Seamus and Dean had taken over Hermione and Ron's usual place by the fire. Frowning, Harry made his way over to them.

"Have you seen Ron?" he asked them, watching with mild interest as Dean shuffled a deck of Muggle playing cards.

Seamus sent him an amused, shrewd sort of look. "He's in the dormitory, mate," he told Harry as Dean began to deal. "But I wouldn't go up there if I were you. I don't think he'd appreciate it, if you catch my meaning."

Harry shook his head. He knew Ron would still be upset with him, but surely he'd have calmed down by now. It had been hours since their fight.

"Pull up a chair, Harry. I'll deal you in," Dean offered with a sly wink at Seamus, who was suddenly blushing furiously.

"What are you playing?" Harry wanted to know.

"Strip poker," Dean said blandly.

"Er, maybe some other time," Harry said, knowing full well that he'd never do any such thing. "I've got to find Ron."

Harry was up the dormitory steps before Dean could say another word or worse, give him another sly wink. He pushed open the door to the sixth year boy's room, which at first glance appeared completely empty. Ron's curtains were drawn shut around his bed--he was probably sulking behind them. "Ron?" Harry said softly, not wanting to bother his friend if he was asleep. "Are you in there?"

No one answered, but Harry thought he saw the curtain ripple in the dim light of the room. Ron was awake then, but was obviously still upset and trying to avoid Harry by feigning sleep. Harry took a deep breath and reached for the curtain, preparing to pull it away. Ron would speak to him, and he would forgive him, even if Harry had to force him to. With that thought firmly in his mind, Harry grasped the hangings and flung them open.

The first thing he noticed was the sudden rush of sound--Ron must have placed some sort of silencing charm around his bed, which explained why he hadn't responded to Harry's voice. Then Harry's eyes widened when he saw where the sound was coming from and all he could do was stand there, mouth gaping open, staring in shock at the sight before him.

Ron had a girl on his bed, and he was kissing her as if his life depended on it; she was kissing him back with equal fervor, and both of them seemed completely oblivious to the fact that Harry was standing there in stunned silence. His eyes flicked back and forth from Ron to the girl before his brain could truly register what was going on. There was no mistaking that bushy hair spread across Ron's pillow. Harry felt slightly ill with anxiety as he opened his mouth to speak.

_"Hermione?"_ Harry said. "What the hell is going on here?!"

At the sound of his voice, Ron and Hermione leapt apart. The momentum sent Ron tumbling off the opposite side of the bed in a fashion Harry might have found comic if he weren't feeling overwhelmingly upset and betrayed. Hermione rubbed frantically at her mouth as if she would wipe away Ron's kisses, her eyes wide with guilt. Ron got up from the floor and attempted to smooth his hair, which was sticking up at odd angles and looking nearly as messy as Harry's normally did.

"How long?" Harry asked, horrified to find that his voice was strangely weak and his eyes stung with tears. "How long have you two been..." he waved his hand toward the bed, "doing _this?_ Why didn't you tell me? How could you not...?"

"Harry, mate," Ron said, sending a pleading look toward Hermione that begged for help, "we were going to tell you. We just... it's new, you know? And we haven't really--"

"Dean and Seamus knew," Harry interrupted. His throat clenched up and he had to swallow hard several times before he could continue. "They knew, and I didn't. I thought I was supposed to be your friend."

Hermione rolled her eyes and began straightening her robes. "Oh, stop feeling all betrayed," she said sharply. "If Dean and Seamus figured it out it's because they've got eyes and they pay attention, isn't it? It's hardly our fault that you're completely oblivious to things that don't directly involve you. And anyway, we were only kissing. It doesn't _mean_ anything," she added, tossing her hair over her shoulder and glaring at Harry defiantly.

"It doesn't mean anything?" Ron echoed, looking flustered and slightly upset. "It doesn't mean anything?!"

Hermione stood up and faced Ron across the bed. "What did you expect Ron? That we'd snog and suddenly we'd have some deep, meaningful relationship?"

"Well... yeah, actually," Ron said indignantly. Harry was beginning to feel extremely uncomfortable, but couldn't seem to stop watching them. It was like a Manticore attack--gruesome to watch but entertaining nonetheless.

Hermione snorted. "A relationship is a lot more than friends who share the occasional kiss, Ron," she told him patronizingly. "There have to be actual emotions involved--you know, those things called feelings that you're incapable of expressing?" Her voice was bitter as she glared at Ron.

"Did you learn that from _Vikky_?" Ron asked acidly.

Hermione tossed her head again and narrowed her eyes at him. "Don't call him that. And yes, Viktor understood the difference. He at least was capable of caring about something aside from a silly game!"

"Quidditch is _not silly!"_ Ron yelled.

Harry shook his head and turned to leave--clearly this argument was deteriorating quickly and anyway, he'd had enough. His best friends, despite their current state of yelling their heads off at each other, were obviously going to start seeing each other. They'd start spending all their time together and wouldn't want Harry around anymore. He'd be left out again, the third wheel. On the up side, they seemed too distracted by each other to remember that they were supposed to be angry with him.

"Where are you going?" Hermione called out as Harry reached the door. "Harry--nothing's going to change."

He looked back at them, his two best friends in the world. If they managed to find happiness together before they ended up killing each other, then who was he to get in the way of that? They deserved this... they deserved each other.

"It already has," he said sadly. He gave them a small smile and shut the door behind him.

Back in the common room, Harry pulled up a chair to Dean and Seamus's table. "Deal me in," he told them. "But I am _not_ taking off my clothes."

* * *

Coming up in chapter 13: Harry runs away from Hogwarts, Buffy and Willow pursue, and craziness ensues.

References:

Harry's dream on the way to Hogwarts was inspired by Willow's dream in 'Restless'. Draco's speech to harry after potions is from 'When She Was Bad' (Cordelia) and Harry's actions in the Great Hall were inspired by Bean in 'Ender's Game.'


	13. Out of Mind, Out of Sight

Chapter 13: Out of Mind, Out of Sight

_"You're weak. Everybody is. Everybody fails. Maybe this evil did bring you back, but if it did, it's because it needs you. And that means that you can hurt it. Angel, you have the power to do real good, to make amends. But if you die now, then all that you ever were was a monster." -Buffy, Amends_

Harry spent the second week of term in a haze, not sure how or what he should be feeling. He instead settled for a dull numbness rather than trying to sift through emotions he'd just as soon ignore altogether. Over the next few days Harry noticed that more and more students had stopped wearing house colors, but he could barely force himself to care. He only just managed to shake himself out of his stupor when the captain of the Hufflepuff Quidditch team approached him at dinner one day to say (in a rather loud and pompous manner that made Harry wonder if he'd been taking lessons from Ernie MacMillan) that his team was pulling out of the competition for the cup. 

Gryffindor, on the other hand, was still planning to play Ravenclaw in the upcoming match in two weeks' time. How Ron and the rest were planning to do that, Harry could only begin to guess, when they were down a Beater and a Seeker, and the captain was all but refusing to talk to one of the Chasers. Hermione had also refused to talk to Ron upon learning that he was taking over as captain; her silence only lasted a few days, but when they finally did begin to talk again, their conversations were stilted and uncomfortable. Harry had a feeling that Ron's stance on Quidditch, more than anything else, was the reason that he and Hermione hadn't yet become an official couple. Despite how angry Hermione always seemed to be with Ron, Harry had caught them kissing more times than he thought was strictly necessary. It seemed that, while she was willing to snog Ron, she was absolutely refusing to date him. 

The argument he'd had with Ron and Hermione after Potions the week before still plagued him. Every time he lay down to sleep at night, the image of their stricken faces haunted his dreams. He continued to make guest appearances in Buffy's dreams as well, which grew increasingly horrific and depressing as the nights wore on. Harry awoke from these dreams feeling more tired than he had before he'd gone to sleep, with his scar itching and burning uncomfortably. 

"You should tell Dumbledore about it," Hermione advised him one night as they sat in the common room, working on a particularly difficult Potions essay. Potions was yet another source of pressure for Harry. The unknown laboratory was turning out to be the most difficult assignment Snape had given them yet. Harry spent most of his free time in the library researching Potions ingredients, and most of his class time feverishly working through test after test, trying to discern what exactly his potion was made of. 

Harry shook his head absently, leafing through _One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi_ hoping to find a way to detect the presence of hellebore, as he strongly suspected Snape had given him some sort of Undetectable Poison as his unknown. "I've had these sorts of dreams before," he told her, pausing to peruse a particularly useful-looking paragraph. "He always says the same thing-'Voldemort's power is getting stronger, you must protect your mind, blah blah.' He won't say anything different now." 

"But these dreams _are_ different," Hermione insisted. "They're not about Voldemort at all. What if they're connected to Ginny in some way? She spent so much time with Buffy and Willow over the holiday, and I hardly ever see her in the common room anymore..." 

"Look, this hasn't got anything to do with Ginny, all right?" Harry snapped. "So just leave me alone, would you? I've got enough to deal with as it is, without worrying about a load of dreams that are probably just rubbish anyway!" 

"Fine," Hermione snapped back, slamming her book closed with a loud 'thump.' "You want to be left alone? I'm going. You know, Ginny was right about you," she continued angrily as she gathered her things and stood up from the table, "you _are_ just using me! And frankly, I'm getting a bit sick of it!" 

Hermione spun on her heel and stalked from the room, slamming the portrait behind her so hard that Harry heard the Fat Lady yell in protest. He closed his eyes and rested his forehead against the smooth wood of the table, trying hard to hold back the tears that suddenly threatened him. He had messed up again, and just when things were almost starting to seem normal again. He hadn't meant what he'd said to Hermione-he didn't want her to leave him alone at all, and had actually come to miss her a great deal now that she spent such a significant amount of time off alone with Ron. Maybe he was jealous-it was only natural for him to be, all things considered. He just hadn't handled it right, hadn't really handled it at all, and now Hermione was mad at him again, and Ron barely talked to him anymore what with the controversy over Quidditch... All the constants in Harry's life were disappearing one by one. Everything suddenly seemed to be unraveling before his eyes. The combined pressures of school, his nightly detentions with Snape, the prophecy, extra lessons, the state of his friendships, not to mention his entire lack of any sort of relationship with Ginny... suddenly it just all seemed like too much for one person to handle. 

Although it was still quite early, Harry gathered his things and made for the dormitory, knowing that he'd never be able to finish his potions essay without Hermione's help, particularly when all he could think about was the myriad of mistakes he seemed to make every time he opened his mouth these days. Once he reached the quiet of the dormitory, he lay down on his bed with a sigh of relief. He couldn't seem to stop thinking about his friends and annoyingly enough, of what Malfoy had said to him that day in the corridor after potions. Was he really so arrogant? Hermione and Ron certainly seemed to think so. But they were wrong, weren't they? They didn't know about the prophecy, or understand what he had gone through, what he was still going through. Sirius was gone because of him. Innocent people had died because of him. Whatever had happened to Ginny-if it hadn't been for his insistence that they fight the dementors on Halloween, she would never have been taken. Hermione's parents, the students who had died in the attacks at Christmas... it hadn't been his fault directly, but in the end it always came back to him, because Voldemort had risen more powerful than before with the help of Harry's blood. 

Harry swallowed and clenched his fists against the overwhelming feelings of grief and guilt flooding through him. With a wave of his wand, he closed the curtains around him. Curling himself into a tight ball, Harry stared blindly into the darkness. He didn't sleep that night. 

Harry rose early the next morning, before any of the other Gryffindors awoke. He grabbed his school bag, tossed his books and notes in his trunk, and stuffed it with a few changes of clothes instead. He'd pick up some food in Hogsmeade. He didn't know how long his journey would be. He didn't even know where he was going really, but he had a shrewd suspicion that he would find his way easily enough. That, or he would _be_ found. 

Harry spared a last glance at his dormmates before throwing his Invisibility Cloak around him. He was doing this for them, he thought to himself dully. Too many innocent people had died to keep him safe. It ended now. He refused to continue hiding safely at school while Voldemort continued to gain in strength and followers. The longer he waited, the worse things would be when the final confrontation came. 

At the last minute, Harry turned around and snuck over to Ron's bed. Ron's bed hangings were closed. Feeling only a small twinge of guilt-this was for Ron's sake as much as his own-Harry carefully opened his friend's trunk. He found what he was looking for immediately: the dagger Malfoy had sent Ginny for Christmas. Giles, having gotten distracted by the strange demon attack over holiday, never had discovered whether it was the actual Dagger of Amalia or if it had magical properties. Harry didn't really care whose dagger it had been or if it had any historical significance. All he knew was that it was a weapon, and he'd definitely be needing one. 

That done, Harry closed the lid on Ron's trunk and left the dormitory as quietly as he could. Once he left the relative safety of Gryffindor, Harry tightened his cloak around him and headed for the owlery, only just barely managing to dodge Peeves by hiding behind the statue of Boris the Bewildered. Peeves couldn't see through the Invisibility Cloak, but Harry wasn't taking any chances. If he wanted to get out of the castle undetected, he couldn't be noticed, not even by a Poltergeist no one ever believed. 

In the owlery, he paused to take off his Cloak and pulled out the letter he had written during the sleepless night before. He looked it over carefully, debating whether or not he should send it after all. 

_Dear Ron and Hermione-  
By now you're probably noticed that I've gone. That, or you're both incredibly unobservant. Sorry, you're probably not in the mood for jokes. In fact, you're probably even angrier at me than you were when I left. But anyway, here goes. I thought that if things don't work out for me, well you deserve to know the truth. You're my best friends-the best I could ever have hoped for. I can't believe you've stood by me all this time, after all the danger I've put you in. _

When I met you back on the Hogwarts Express first year, I never imagined how close we'd become or how much we'd go through together. You've always been there for me, even when I was being a ridiculous git last year, and I don't know how to thank you. But now I need to do this on my own-it's time to end this, one way or another. I don't want to go into details in a letter, but there's something I've been keeping from you. That prophecy Voldemort wanted so badly last year, enough to risk exposure for it... well I can't remember the exact wording, but it basically said that I was the only one who could kill him. Unless he kills me first, that is. Right cheerful, eh? I'm destined to be a murderer or murdered. So I guess now I'm off to do that-meet my destiny and all that rubbish. 

Merlin, I sound silly. Anyway, I hope you can forgive me for going alone. I'm done putting the people I care about in danger. I hope I come back. But if I don't I want you both to know that I love you. You're the only family I've ever known, and the best one I could've ever hoped for. Take care of each other.  
Love from,  
Harry 

Harry folded the parchment and sealed it quickly, searching for Hedwig among the multitudes of owls perched above. If he thought too much about his friends, he knew he wouldn't be able to go through with it. Hedwig fluttered down to him, hooting happily. He stroked her feathers, feeling incredibly sad. 

"I'm giving you this letter now," he told her, whispering as he tied the parchment to her leg. "But I don't want you to deliver it straight away. I need you to wait a day. Can you do that?" 

Hedwig hooted softly to show that she understood. With an affectionate nip on Harry's finger, she took off, floating gently back up into the rafters. Harry watched her go, wishing he could take her with him, somehow. He pulled the Invisibility Cloak back on and left quickly, making his way down to the entrance hall. With no one guarding the gates of the school any longer, there was no need for Harry to sneak into Hogsmeade through the secret passage. Feeling a strange sense of freedom, Harry pushed open the front door and walked down the road to the village unhindered and unseen. 

Once in Hogsmeade, he found an out of the way bakery and stocked up on bread and cheese. He didn't expect to be traveling for very long; he thought that once Voldemort got word that he was missing, as he was likely to do either through his own spies or through general student gossip that would undoubtedly make its way to the Daily Prophet, he would find Harry or send his minions to do so. With that in mind Harry turned down the road past Dervish and Bangs, heading unconsciously for the cave that Sirius had holed up in during the Triwizard Tournament. He picked his way through the rocky base of the mountains, thinking that he would stop for some breakfast in Sirius's cave before heading on. He didn't have much of a plan, but upon further consideration decided that he could probably lose himself fairly well in the mountains. His scar prickled and itched as he climbed-Harry wondered vaguely if Voldemort somehow already knew he had left the protection of Hogwarts. 

Harry stopped briefly in Sirius's hideout before moving on. Even the simple sight of the place was immensely painful. Everywhere he turned, memories of Sirius seemed to spring themselves upon Harry. Sirius being so concerned for his welfare that he'd risked capture to be near him, Sirius as Padfoot, wagging his tail excitedly as he watched Harry approach, Sirius surviving on _rats_ for his benefit... Harry left the cave soon after arriving. 

He traveled slowly, restricted by the Invisibility Cloak and the rough terrain that made it difficult to set a faster pace. Harry climbed most of the day, finally throwing caution to the wind around midday, stuffing his Cloak into his bag when traveling under it became too difficult. As the sun began to set over the mountains, Harry found another cave. With a grateful sigh, Harry tossed his bag to the ground and collapsed next to it. He was too tired to continue on-he'd stay there for the night. 

"Running away won't change anything, you know," said a voice from the mouth of the cave. "Believe me-been there, done that." Harry jerked awake suddenly, automatically reaching for his wand and the dagger he'd stolen. He scrambled to his feet and spun around, wand in one hand and dagger in the other, both pointed at the source of the voice only a few feet away. When he saw the slight blonde girl leaning against one damp wall, he relaxed slightly but did not lower his weapons. He glared at her. How had she found him, and why had she even bothered to come looking? 

"Buffy?" another voice called from farther down the mountain path. "Is he in there? Because I'm getting a little tired of poking around dark caves." 

"The spell worked, Will," Buffy called over her shoulder. "He's here, pointing his stick at me and looking like he may be channeling Dawn after doing something seriously stupid." 

"Oooh, is he all red?" Willow's voice, sounding very out of breath, came from behind Buffy again, closer this time. "Is his right eye twitching?" 

"Nice digs," Buffy commented, stepping further into the cave. She wrinkled her nose. "Seriously Harry, you should have a little self respect. Even vampires live in crypts. Or some even pull out all the stops and go for the occasional abandoned building. Mind if I pull up a patch of, erm, dirt? We've been walking all night." 

While Buffy grimaced and sat on the packed mud floor, giving her jeans a forlorn look, Willow's head popped around the edge of the cave. Breathing hard from the long trek up the mountain, Willow collapsed next to Buffy and gave Harry a weak smile. 

"We're here to rescue you," she told him, raising an eyebrow at the wand in Harry's right hand and the dagger in his left. 

"I don't need rescuing, thanks," he told them angrily. 

"Uh huh. And Snape doesn't need a shower," Buffy said. 

"Harry," Willow tried again, shooting Buffy an amused glance, "Hermione told us about the letter you sent her and Ron. You can't just go off to face this Voldymart guy alone. Dumbledore sent us to fetch you back before you get yourself killed." 

"Why didn't he come himself?" Harry demanded, suspicious. He'd known for months that Buffy and Willow were up to something highly questionable and possibly dangerous. "Why would he send you, and not McGonagall or even Snape? How do I know he sent you? In fact, how do I know you're you at all?" His grip tightened on his wand and he lifted the dagger a little higher. 

Buffy snorted. "You know we're only letting you keep those weapons to make you feel better, right?" She stood up, brushing the dirt from her jeans. "You wanna go? 'Cause we can do this the hard way, if that's what you're into. Funny, I never pegged you as a friend of the old Marquis, but hey, I guess you learn something new everyday." 

"Buffy," Willow said, her voice holding the shadow of a warning. Buffy tossed her head but did not take her eyes off of Harry. "Dumbledore was too busy to come," Willow explained. "McGonagall... can you really picture her tartan ass hiking up here? We're here to help you, I swear. Why don't you put down your wand and we can talk like people who understand the rudiments of rationality." 

"There's nothing to discuss," Harry said flatly. "This is my destiny, isn't it? Weren't you the one who told me I couldn't avoid it?" he asked Buffy. 

"Talking's never really been my strong suit," Buffy said. "Anyway I never told you to be an idiot and get yourself killed. There's lots of time for that later. After you finish school." 

"Right, and in the meantime Voldemort will keep picking off my friends one by one because he can't get to me, and I'm just supposed to let that happen?" 

"And you being dead will help on what imaginary plane of existence?" Buffy asked, her voice rising. She glared at him. "You're not being brave or strong here, Harry. You think you're riding off into the sunset to meet your fate, being all noble and sacrificing or something? Well you're not! You're scared, and you're running to your death because you want to end it! I get that, Harry, I really do. You're tired and you're sick to death of fighting. But that's what we do. Life is hard, and it's fighting, and it's everyday. And if you think for one second that I'm just going to stand here and let you _die_, then I haven't taught you a damn thing!" 

Buffy's impassioned speech touched a deep well of rage inside Harry he hadn't even realized was there. "I'm being selfish?" he shouted. "I'm trying to _keep_ people from dying! Maybe I am tired-tired of giving and giving all the time and never managing to do any good! Well now I can." Without further warning, Harry shouted out a Stunning Spell, determined to escape from them. They would not keep him from facing his fate... 

"_Deflect_," Willow said calmly, raising her hand in front of her face. The jet of red light hit her palm and bounced off, shooting into the wall behind Harry instead. A loud crack reverberated through the cave and rocks went flying in all directions. While Buffy and Willow were distracted by the small explosion, Harry raised his wand again. 

"_Petrificus Totalus! _" he yelled, aiming his spell at Buffy. She leaped to the side a moment too late-the spell grazed her ankle and she froze, her legs snapping together, her arms glued to her sides. With a look of surprised anger, she wobbled on her frozen legs before falling flat on her back in the dirt. 

"_Accio! _" Willow yelled, hand held out toward Harry's wand. 

"_Protego! _" Harry cried out quickly. His wand quivered in his hand but his spell had worked-it did not fly from his grasp. 

Willow's eyes darkened and she gave him a little smile that sent a chill down Harry's spine. "Ooooh. I love it when they fight back." 

"_Accio Buffy! _" Harry shouted. He wasn't sure if the spell would work-he'd never tried to Summon a person before-and was pleasantly surprised when the Slayer flew toward him, still stuck in the full body bind. Dropping the dagger to the dirt, Harry caught Buffy by the arm and held her in front of him as a shield. It was a dirty trick, but effective. Surely Willow wouldn't attack her friend. 

"Clever, aren't you?" Willow asked. Then, "_Wake up. _" 

Buffy came to life in his arms, slamming the back of her head into his face with a force that made his vision go momentarily black. Harry only had time enough to register the painful crunching sensation in his nose that surely meant it was broken before his arm had been grasped and he was flung unceremoniously over Buffy's shoulder to the ground. She twisted his wrist painfully, forcing him to drop his wand as she planted a booted foot firmly into his chest. Somehow in all the chaos she had also gotten hold of Ginny's dagger-it was now pointed at his throat. Harry swallowed and clenched his eyes shut, feeling strangely relieved. He felt as if lately, all he ever did was try and fail. First with Ginny, then Ron and Hermione, now this. And Buffy was right-he was tired, tired of trying so damn hard and playing the stoic hero, when really that's all it was. An act, a show he put on to make the others feel better, as if they really had a reason to hope, when in reality Harry couldn't believe that he would ever win against Voldemort. 

"I think you broke my nose," Harry said finally, grimacing at the taste of blood in his mouth. 

"I warned you the hard way would be a whole lot of no fun," Buffy told him. "Willow, can you fix that?" she asked, continuing to hold the dagger point steadily at his throat. Willow's face appeared from above, looking concerned. 

"I probably shouldn't," she said. "Healing spells have never been one of my strengths, along with conjuring those cute little fairy lights, strangely enough. I could conjure some ice, though," she added. 

Buffy took her foot from Harry's chest and waved at him to sit up. She continued to hold the dagger on him while she kicked away his wand. "Move and I promise you, I'll use this," she threatened. "I'm sure Pomfrey can reattach any extremities I see fit to...remove." 

Harry gratefully accepted a cloth folded with ice from Willow and pressed if to his throbbing face. "Now what?" he muttered. "We go back?" 

Buffy snorted. "So you can run off again? I don't think so. We're taking you on a vision quest." 

Harry frowned. "A vision quest?" 

"There's a door hidden deep in the Forbidden Forest," Willow explained. "Cassandra's Door. Cassandra was a great Seer, cursed by the Greek God Apollo to have visions but never be believed. How well do you know your ancient Greek history?" 

Harry, who had not taken a single note in History of Magic for the past two years, shrugged. "They built Stonehenge?" he ventured. 

Buffy rolled her eyes. "Please. Even I know the Druids built that." 

"Cassandra was a Trojan princess," Willow explained, ignoring their comments. "She Saw the destruction of Troy at Agamemnon's hand when her twin brother Paris kidnapped his brother's wife. No one believed her, of course, because of that whole being horribly cursed thing. Troy fell and she was taken by Agamemnon as spoils of war. According to most accounts she died when they reached Mycenae, killed along with Agamemnon by his wife and her lover. But the truth is, she was a very powerful witch. She disappeared north and eventually settled in Britain-the Forbidden Forest, to be exact. Not many people realize that the Forbidden Forest is sort of like the opposite of the Hellmouth-a convergence of mystical energy, but the good, fluffy kind. Before Cassandra died she built a door in the Forest. She imbued it with her Sight, so that anyone who crosses the threshold is gifted with a vision. If you survive, you'll be able to remember what you've Seen and use it to your advantage." 

"Check out Willow. She's like mini-Giles," Buffy said with a grin. "Maybe next year I'll get you a nice tweed suit for Christmas." 

But something Willow said caught Harry's attention. "Hang on a second, what do you mean, _if_ I survive?" he asked, intrigued despite himself. He wished he'd paid more attention during History of Magic lessons. He'd never head anyone mention a door in the Forest, but then not many people went into the Forest enough to really explore it thoroughly, aside from maybe Hagrid. 

"Cassandra's Door isn't exactly... free. To keep the vision, you have to give something in return," Buffy said, her eyes shifting from his. "Spirit of capitalism, the iron cage and all that." 

"Like what?" Harry asked. This didn't sound good... 

"It's different for everyone," Willow said quickly. "Like a trial sort of thing. But no one's died in centuries." 

"How many people have actually been through the Door in the last hundred years?" Harry demanded. 

"Five?" Buffy said hesitantly. "But they all lived through it. And only one of them had to be committed afterward." 

"_You_ two are insane if you think I'm going with you! Dumbledore can't have wanted-" 

But just then an owl swooped into the cave, clutching a scarlet envelope in its beak. It dropped the letter on Harry's head with a squawk and flew off again, wings flapping in irritation. 

Harry stared at the letter in consternation for a moment. Who knew where he was to send him a Howler? Who would be sending him a Howler in the first place? Before he had much time to consider, the envelope began to smoke at the corners. Cringing, Harry broke the seal quickly and braced himself for the inevitable. 

"_HARRY POTTER! _" Professor McGonagall's voice echoed in terrible anger through the cave. "_HOW DARE YOU BE SUCH A MONUMENTAL IDIOT AND LEAVE HOGWARTS! REST ASSURED YOU WILL BE SERVING DETENTION FOR MONTHS TO COME WHEN YOU RETURN! DO YOU HEAR ME, POTTER? MONTHS! AND YOU HAD BETTER DO AS YOUR PROFESSORS SAY OR I WILL BE FORCED TO TAKE DRASTIC MEASURES! _" 

Taking his hands from his ears, Harry smiled wanly at Buffy and Willow. "Well I guess that settles it, eh? So where exactly is Cassandra's Door?" 

The journey back to Hogwarts and the Forbidden Forest went much more quickly than Harry's trip out, when he'd been going it alone. Buffy set a fast pace, oblivious to Willow and Harry's panting breaths as they straggled along behind her. Now that he no longer needed to worry about being discovered, Harry left his Invisibility Cloak inside his bag, allowing him to move more freely than he had before. It only took them a few hours to reach the edge of the Forest, although by that time both Willow and Harry were exhausted and out of breath. Buffy, who seemed to have limitless amounts of energy, wanted to go on immediately, but Willow convinced her to let them rest for a few minutes by whining unashamedly. 

They sat on a large log in a small clearing just within the edge of the Forest, the same one in which Hagrid had done his lesson on Thestrals. Snow covered the Forest floor in thick white sheets, despite the fact that the trees above should've blocked at least some of it. Harry shivered in his winter cloak. Even now it was snowing softly, large flakes floating down through the tree branches to melt on his face and hair. He'd been too busy and too involved in his own thoughts until that point to really feel the cold, but now that they had stopped, the chill of the January day was beginning to seep into his bones. Willow and Buffy both wore heavy Muggle coats of wool and funny, colorful hats with baubles on top that reminded Harry forcibly of Hermione's elf hats. Thinking of Hermione was painful-he wondered what she and Ron thought of his letter, if they were angry at him, if they would ever forgive him. He'd been incredibly stupid to think he could just go off and find Voldemort, and he didn't even really know what he'd planned to do then. Die, most likely. Maybe Buffy had been right, and that's what he had really wanted-to die, to end it, because he was sick of carrying on. 

Buffy rubbed her mittened hands together, shivering. "You know what this reminds me of, Will?" she asked wistfully. 

Willow smiled. "That time it snowed on Christmas? It seems like such a long time ago. I was with Oz..." 

"Angel... he was such an idiot. Kind of reminds me of you, Harry." 

"Gee, thanks," said Harry dryly. 

Willow frowned. "Harry reminds you of a guy who tried to destroy the world?" 

Buffy hit Willow playfully in the arm. "No, silly. Harry reminds me of a guy who thought it would be a great idea to destroy _himself_ instead of being used. You're very self-sacrificing, you know. Don't you ever just want to do stuff for yourself? You know, like go on dates and be a kid and have fun?" 

"I thought I was selfish," Harry said bitterly. 

Buffy rolled her eyes. "Well, you are sixteen. C'mon, seriously? You're _famous_. You could be getting with all the hotties, and instead you just mope around being all noble and 'I have to save the world from unspeakable evil' and stuff. I always hated being secret identity gal. But you... well everyone knows about you fighting the Big Bad. You should totally take advantage!" 

"Buffy!" Willow chided. "I don't think we should encourage Harry to, er, _take advantage_ of anything." 

"Listen Harry," Buffy said earnestly. "This is the last advice I'm going to give you, I promise. Because the last time I tried, I obviously gave you some wacked ideas about facing your destiny. You have a year and half left at school, right? A year and a half of being protected. So I say, _use it_. We all know you might not live through the final showdown. I'm not going to coddle you and pretend it's not a big possibility-it's a risk us hero-types take. So you have this time to be a normal kid and yes-train to face the most evil dark wizard ever-but also have fun and date and be a regular guy." 

Harry shook his head. "I don't think... I mean it wouldn't be exactly fair to date at all, would it? Not if I might die, or put someone in danger." 

"I'm not saying that's not a possibility," Buffy said, "but you can't let fear of something that may or may not happen stop you from doing stuff. There might be consequences to deal with later-" 

"-like soulless fiends attempting to murder your friends and suck the world into hell," interrupted Willow. 

"-but that's later, and hey, it pretty much always worked out for me. Plus," she added, shooting a frustrated look at Willow, "how likely is it that you'll fall in love with a vampire with a soul? Far as I know, there're only two, and-" 

"-as they're both in love with Buffy-" 

"-you probably don't stand a chance with either of them." Buffy and Willow both grinned at him expectantly. He didn't know what they wanted from him-some sort of declaration that he'd try to act like a normal boy while he was at Hogwarts? It wasn't possible, and besides, he had already put enough people in danger as it was. If he started dating and acting, well, like a regular teenager, who knows what might happen? 

"Er, we should probably be getting on," he said instead, standing up and brushing the snow from his cloak. "We don't want to be caught in the Forest at night if we can help it." 

Buffy sighed. "Fine, fine. Listen to my crappy advice about destiny and ignore my good advice on having fun!" She stood and turned in a tight circle, trying to orient herself. "Okay, I think it's this way," she said, pointing ahead into a dense field of tall trees. 

It took another hour to reach the heart of the forest, and an additional fifteen minutes after that to locate Cassandra's Door. They stumbled upon it almost by accident-Willow had gone off to relieve herself behind a particularly large tree, only to call out a few moments later that she'd found it. 

Harry found himself staring in awe at the Door. It was set in a small clearing, a large stone archway filled with an iron-grey wooden door. The clearing itself was what had Harry staring. There was no snow here; the grass grew green and tall and wild, the branches of the trees bowed beneath the weight of leaves and flowers and cones-it seemed to be caught in perpetual springtime. The Door itself reminded Harry painfully of the strange veiled arch that Sirius had fallen through in the Department of Mysteries. So old it should have been crumbling, the Door radiated a strange, almost hypnotic magic that had Harry taking small steps toward it without even realizing what he was doing. 

"So what happens now?" he asked finally. He could not seem to take his eyes from the Door. Was it somehow connected to the arch in the Ministry of Magic? Could he possibly reach Sirius through it? 

"Now you go through," Buffy said unhelpfully. 

"There's no handle or knob or anything," Harry pointed out. He took another step toward the Door. 

Willow sighed, her face twisting in a strange sort of grimace. She swung her bag off her shoulder and knelt down, carefully untying the strings that held it closed. She paused before opening the bag, giving Harry an oddly resentful glance. 

"Do you know what this is, Harry?" she asked. "What's in the bag, I mean?" Harry shook his head, his eyes trained on the black cloth, now intensely curious. Willow sighed again. "It's one of the Bends of the Rainbow. The blue one." 

"The Bends of the Rainbow?" Harry asked, his brow furrowed in thought. He'd heard that somewhere before, he was sure of it. Something about altered mental states and magical objects... that was it! Professor Binns had given a brief lecture on the Bends just last June. Harry didn't remember much from that lesson, as he'd spent most of it playing hangman with Ron on a corner of spare parchment, but the name definitely rang a bell. The Bends of the Rainbow were actually thirteen magical balls created by a sorcerer who in some stories pre-dated wizard kind, but in others was Maerlyn, the Ageless Stranger... 

Buffy was watching him curiously as he took far too long to answer a simple question. "You have 'but' face," she said dryly. 

"What?" Harry asked quickly, distracted from his memories. 

"You look like you're about to say 'but,'" she clarified. 

Harry shook his head and turned to Willow. "But I thought the Bends were a legend-a sort of wizard's holy grail?" he said finally. "Or at the very least, they were lost hundreds of years ago." 

"Does this look mythy to you?" Willow asked. She pulled away one corner of the bag, revealing the glossy curve of a glass ball so intensely blue that Harry felt he could be lost watching that color, could let himself sink into its depths and become part of its beauty... 

Willow covered the ball quickly and Harry blinked, so disappointed for a moment that he almost hated Willow for taking the blue vision away. 

"See?" she said softly. "_So_ not a myth. This is what those of us who bother to, you know, actually _read_ call 'blue peace,' one of the Bends. Dumbledore managed to wrangle it from a friend of his, something about a trade involving performing inappropriate charms on goats that the average citizen couldn't get away with. I guess old blue eyes is an exception. Anyway, blue peace will open the Door. But it's sort of, well, deadly addictive, so it would be nice if you could be kind of quick about this." 

"So it's all true?" Harry had to ask. He had to know if it was true, what he'd heard about the Bends. Because if it was then maybe, just maybe, there might be a way to bring Sirius back... 

Willow couldn't quite meet his eyes. "It's true that there are thirteen. They were created by a powerful sorcerer known as the Ageless Stranger. Each one represented a different Guardian of the Beam-" 

"Never mind all that," Harry interrupted impatiently. He was not interested in a lesson on mythology or history, whichever it happened to be. Hope was beginning to flare inside him, hope that perhaps Sirius wasn't as lost as he seemed. "Wasn't one of them known for time traveling powers?" 

Willow's eyes clouded and her lips tightened to a thin, near-invisible line. "Forget about it, Harry," she said firmly, but not unkindly. "That one is lost to us. And anyway, I know what you're thinking. Don't think I haven't gone over it a hundred times myself. If there was a way to bring people back... but there isn't. He's gone Harry. Sooner or later, you'll have to accept that." 

It was Harry's turn to look away. His eyes focused on the Door, its strange grey wood carved with runic symbols he couldn't read. "Let's just get this over with," he said. He felt anger rising inside him, uncoiling like a snake about to attack. His tongue tasted bitter in his mouth. Harry bit it to keep from screaming out his rage and pain, and his mouth filled with the coppery taste of blood instead. 

Willow bent over the bag and peeled it open once more. This time Harry did not look, but he could feel blue peace calling to him, filling him with a near physical yearning to turn back and just stare and stare. It took all his willpower to remain facing the Door, keeping his eyes carefully trained on those runic letters. He took a step closer, and the symbols suddenly became utterly clear. The words were plain as day. Harry didn't understand how he couldn't have seen before: _Found Door_. 

"Right," Harry muttered. The Door seemed to call to him, but that same very magnetic attraction made him hesitant to approach it. What if he couldn't pay the price, whatever it was? What if the vision was something terrible-his friends dying, or something else equally horrifying? Taking a deep breath, Harry screwed up his courage and took several more steps forward, until he was directly in front of the Door. He wasn't a Gryffindor for nothing, he reminded himself sternly. 

The Door shimmered in the rays of spring sunshine filtering through the trees, its ancient grey surface wavering in and out of existence. He took a final step forward and the Door disappeared entirely. Through it, Harry could see only a vast field of black, a sort of blankness that both frightened and compelled him. With one last look back at Buffy and Willow, crouching low over blue peace, Harry stepped over the threshold. 

The first thing he noticed was the screaming. It seemed to surround him on all sides in a tornado of sound, so loud and chilling that Harry's first instinct was to clamp his hands over his ears. When he gained his bearings enough to take a good look around, the sight that greeted him made Harry feel almost sick with horror. 

He was in the midst of a battle. Spells flashed around him, lighting up the grey dawn sky in sickening shades of green and red, and the noise of people shouting was deafening. There were hundreds of people--a crowd so large he could hardly distinguish who was who and which sides were which. He saw Hagrid above the crush, looking slightly ridiculous with his flowered pink umbrella, a fearsome expression marring his normally kind face. Directly to his right, Parvati and Padma Patil fought side by side, protecting each other's backs as best they could. Farther along he saw more Gryffindors--Seamus, Dean, Neville, and Katie were pressed together, aiming spells at seeming random. Harry turned in a circle, searching desperately for Ron and Hermione, but he couldn't find them anywhere. And then a shout went out, and the action seemed to stand still for a complete second as loud, thunderous crashes from the forest behind signaled a new threat. Harry whirled about, only to find himself frozen with shock at the sight of ten massive giants emerging from the trees of the Forbidden Forest. 

A sort of determined hush fell over Harry's friends and the professors, and then from behind him he heard the distinctive voice of the Slayer. "_Now! _" 

With an earth-shaking crash and a shower of impossible golden fire, the dawning sun died, abruptly extinguished like a candle in a strong wind. The scene fell into darkness so complete that Harry could no longer see his friends or enemies alike. Then the world erupted into a barrage of screams. 

Harry was pulled from the scene jarringly, as if he had just touched a Portkey. One moment he was shrouded in darkness on the lawn of Hogwarts, the next he was being yanked through time and space, destination unknown. He landed hard and fell to his knees. He was in a grassy clearing in a forest and before him stood a tall, graceful woman in long white robes. Harry could barely stand to look at her face; it was both breathtakingly beautiful and somehow terrible all the same. 

"Harry Potter," the woman said with a smile of satisfaction. "I thought I might be seeing you." Harry had to resist the urge once again to cover his ears-her voice was low and as equally terrible as her beauty. Like the sound of nails scraping along a chalkboard, her voice sent an immensely unpleasant chill down his spine. 

"Please," Harry gasped, his fingers clutching at the grass and pulling it up in clumps, "where am I? Who're you?" 

The woman slid gracefully to her knees in front of him. She cupped his face in one ice-cold hand, forcing his head up to meet her eyes; with the forefinger of her free hand, she traced the lightening bolt scar on his forehead almost reverently. She pressed her lips to his scar, his right cheek, his jaw. Harry trembled beneath her touch, feeling equal parts fear and desire as the mysterious woman examined his face as if she had never seen one before. After several moments she pulled away, sitting back on her heals and favoring him with another terrible smile. She spread her arms wide in an eloquent sort of shrug. 

"But, isn't it obvious? I am Cassandra. You've had a vision, yes? And now it is time to make your payment." Harry stared dumbly at her face, the sharp slant of her cheek bones, the elegance of her almost stubborn jaw line, the way her eyes seemed almost colorless--pale, strange orbs set deep in her face, huge and bright against the olive of her skin. 

"What do you want from me?" Harry asked, forcing himself to stay calm. Willow and Buffy would not have put him in any sort of mortal danger, at least not on purpose. 

"You are asking the wrong question, my child. It is not I who seeks something from you, but you who desires something of me. Knowledge can be a terrible gift. It is why I am never believed," she told him with a wry twist of her pale lips. 

"Knowledge?" Harry asked, confused. He had thought there would be a test of some kind to escape with his vision. He had never imagined that she would offer... 

"I am a Seer," she said simply. "I Saw the fall of Troy, the destruction of my family and enemies alike. Now I will See for you. I will answer one question only, but you must choose wisely, child. Knowledge can be as terrible as it is useful. To know the future and be helpless to change it-I have seen men go mad with grief and horror." 

Harry swallowed and clenched his hands together, his mind racing desperately. The first idea that came to his head was Ginny, that he should ask about her actions and what they meant, but he shoved the thought away angrily. The petty machinations of a teenage girl were hardly important enough to warrant asking Cassandra about. His mind turned to the battle he had seen, and without thinking the words tumbled from his mouth. 

"That battle I Saw-can you tell me the outcome?" 

"The outcome... that would depend upon how you define your terms." She closed her eyes briefly and Harry couldn't help but feel a momentary surge of relief now that those strangely pale eyes were no longer focused on him. "Many lives will be lost in both sides. I see grief, pain, destruction. Betrayal will turn the tides of the battle." 

"But who will win?" Harry asked quickly. 

"Win. What an odd word to use in the context of war," she replied unhelpfully. "There is no winner here, only the dead and the survivors. The ferryman will line his pockets with the fares of the fallen. He, perhaps, could be considered the victor." 

"What has that got to do with anything?" Harry shouted in frustration. Cassandra stood slowly and took several steps back, staring at him with a bored expression on her face, as if she had been expecting just this reaction. "Why did you bother to See for me if you weren't going to tell me anything useful? Of _course_ people are going to die! What did you think happened in war-they exchanged mild insults?!" 

"Listen to me, boy." Her words were calm, but her voice held a thread of danger that made Harry cringe away from her. "I have seen war-years upon _years_ of death and destruction, atrocity and loss. I did not believe you a fool before this, but if you can think for even a moment that any triumph can be had in death, well..." She paused and stared at him assessingly. When she spoke again, her voice was tired and resigned. "I merely answered your question. Perhaps it is the question that is flawed, rather than its reply," she said blandly. "I am sorry if you are disappointed. You should leave now. I sense our meeting has ceased to be productive, to either of us." 

She waved her hand and the arched doorway appeared between them, blocking her from view. Harry scrambled to his feet and approached the Door quickly, wanting nothing more than to escape Cassandra and her useless, frustrating predictions as quickly as possible. He didn't like the way she made him feel-as if wanting to fight, to protect his friends and stand up for his beliefs was wrong somehow. They grey, stone-like wood of the Door shimmered and vanished as he moved nearer. On the other side lay the Forbidden Forest, bathed in the dim, shadowy light of dusk. Willow knelt on the ground facing the Door, blue peace shimmering in front of her. Her face twisted with the effort of maintaining control. Her eyes flashed at him, mossy green then a deep, disturbing black that sent chills down his spine. Harry rushed forward, knowing that he had to get back to Willow and blue peace before it was too late-for all of them. As he stepped through the shimmering surface of the Door, Cassandra's voice echoed in his mind like the howling of wolves... "Betrayal will turn the tides of the battle..." 

"Well, that was an absolute waste of time," Harry told Buffy and Willow as they trudged through the forest toward the castle. He had just finished telling them briefly about his vision and the encounter with Cassandra; recounting her words only served to intensify his frustration at her so-called predictions. 

"It wasn't completely useless," Buffy protested. "I mean, hey, now we know there's gonna be a battle. A fight we can handle-nothing we haven't faced before. Could you tell when it happened?" 

Harry shrugged. "It was warm outside, and sunny. Summer, perhaps? There were loads of students though, so it had to be during the school term, when Hogwarts is still in session. My best guess would be June-it usually doesn't get hot here until around then." 

"June? Why does it always have to be June?" Willow asked. "It's like baddies plan their apocalyptic world take over attempts just to ruin the summer. Every time!" 

"Feel lucky you got something that made even a little sense," Buffy advised him. "Last time I went on a vision quest, all I got was 'Death is your gift.' Believe me, that doesn't go over well at birthday parties." 

"Death is your gift?" Harry echoed. 

"It's sort of a long story," Willow said. 

"I died to save the world from unimaginable hell, hence the entire giftyness of death," Buffy said. 

"Okay, maybe not that long," Willow said with a smile. 

They walked on for another half an hour before reaching the edge of the forest. By the time they climbed the front steps of the castle, night had fallen and Harry was exhausted. He had eaten very little in the past two days and his stomach reminded him of this suddenly with a loud growl. 

"Hungry?" Buffy asked, giving Harry a sidelong glance. Harry smiled wanly-it had been a long day. She took pity on him. "C'mon. Our rooms are near Gryffindor. We have food. Well, we have ramen, a food-like substance." 

Harry followed them into the castle, sighing as they crossed the stone threshold. He felt strangely relieved to be back. Only two days before, he had thought he'd never see Hogwarts again and now he had returned so quickly. A wide grin broke across his face and he found himself smiling foolishly, despite his exhaustion and hunger. He was home. 

Buffy and Willow's rooms were tucked away in one of the smaller turrets very near Gryffindor tower. Although they each had their own bedroom, the two girls shared a small sort of common room with two squishy red couches that looked suspiciously as if they'd been taken from Gryffindor, an ancient brown recliner Harry recognized as a Laz-y Boy, and, to Harry's great surprise, a television. Just off the common room was a small kitchenette consisting of only the very basics: a miniature refrigerator, tiny gas stove, and rusty-looking sink. Buffy headed directly for it and began rummaging in the cupboards while Harry and Willow collapsed onto the couch. Willow fumbled with the television remote and the television sparked to life. After a few moments of snow, "The Simpsons" appeared on the screen. 

Harry smiled. "How'd you get this to work at Hogwarts?" Harry asked. "I thought Muggle things like this didn't work with so much magic in the air." 

Willow smiled slyly. "I know this ionizing spell. Pretty much useless, but I get to watch t.v. this way. I don't know how you guys survive without it." 

After a few minutes Buffy emerged from the kitchen with a large, steaming pot and three forks. "Okay Harry, you're about to partake of the extent of my cooking abilities." She handed him a fork and set the pot on the coffee table in front of Harry and Willow. Buffy settled on the floor opposite and began to eat ravenously. 

Harry shrugged and began eating. "So tell us more about your vision, Harry," Willow mumbled through a mouth of noodles. 

"It was strange," Harry said. He was feeling much better now that he had eaten a bit. He paused to consider his words carefully. Despite the fact that both McGonagall and Dumbledore seemed to trust the Defense professors, Harry still felt extremely wary of them. They'd been acting suspiciously since the beginning of the year. Harry chose his words carefully. 

"I was in the middle of a battle. You were both there, and loads of students. Only, I didn't see myself or Ron or Hermione. And then everything went dark-like the sun had been totally blotted out. And then..." Harry sighed. "Screaming." 

"Aha!" Willow said triumphantly. 

"Aha!" Buffy repeated knowledgably. "Aha? What are we 'aha-ing' about?" 

"Well, okay good point. We don't really know anything new, but we've done this before, right? Big brewing evil, apocalyptic battle... we can handle that. Just remember the three most important words to a Slayer: preparation, preparation, preparation." 

"That's one word three times, _Wesley_," Buffy smirked. 

Willow shrieked and threw a cushion at Buffy's head. Buffy snatched it deftly from the air and shoved it under her, grinning. "So what do you think, Harry? Open your Inner Eye... you must See beyond!" Buffy said in a spooky, fluttery voice, doing a spot on impersonation of Professor Trelawney. 

Harry bit his lip, debating whether or not to tell them about having met Cassandra and what she'd told him. After a few moments he decided against it; she hadn't said anything useful, after all, and for some reason Harry didn't feel as if he should go around telling people about the encounter, much less two strange women he hardly knew. 

"It's a bit odd though, isn't it?" Harry asked finally, voicing something he'd been wondering about since he'd had the vision. "Why would I have a vision that I wasn't in? And why _wasn't_ I there? A huge battle like that... there's only one reason I can think of why I wouldn't be there," Harry said miserably. 

Buffy shook her head. "Don't be an idiot. You're not going to die. Maybe you were taking a nap. Or, or sick with the flu. I know whenever I have a sinus infection, my Slaying is never up to scratch." 

Willow gave her a look. "What Buffy's saying is that there's probably some really good reason you weren't there. It's the future Harry. We won't know until, you know, it happens." 

Harry shook his head. "I knew there was a reason I dropped Divination as soon as I could," he said with a smile. "Anyway, I suppose I ought to get to Gryffindor. Classes tomorrow," he added with a grimace. "Urg. I've missed two days' worth. Oh Merlin, I'll never catch up in potions!" he groaned. 

"I didn't do that well in school, and look where it got me," Buffy said encouragingly. 

"Buffy, you've died twice. And if things had worked out the way I'd planned, I wouldn't exactly need to worry about lessons!" Harry grumbled. 

Buffy rolled her eyes. "Go to bed, Harry. You could pass for walking dead right now. Or maybe stumbling, shuffling dead. And believe me, I've seen enough zombies to know." 

A wave of exhaustion hit Harry as he climbed the stairs to Gryffindor tower, a feeling of sudden dread sweeping over him as the Fat Lady's portrait drew nearer. Hermione and Ron were just inside that portrait, probably waiting up for him to make sure he'd returned. Harry wondered if Hermione was still angry with him, and whether Ron would even speak to him. When he'd left, the three of them hadn't been on good terms; he and Hermione had just fought, Ron was barely speaking to him, and Ron and Hermione weren't really speaking to each other, either. Harry stopped in front of the Fat Lady, thinking furiously. The letter he'd written them... Willow had said Hermione had gotten it. Harry found himself flushing, remembering what he'd said in that letter. That they were his family, and that he loved them, that they needed to take care of each other... He swallowed, wanting to see both of them so badly it was a near physical ache, but dreading it all the same. 

"Are you coming in or what?" the Fat Lady demanded. "Only, Lady Violet's invited me to a party in that portrait of the three monks, so get on with it." 

"Fairy dust," Harry said tiredly. The portrait swing open and Harry climbed through, ready to face his friends. After all, things couldn't really get much worse than they'd been before he'd left... 

Before Harry had even gotten all the way through the entrance to Gryffindor, a large amount of bushy hair was being shoved in his face as Hermione practically knocked him over in a desperate hug. Harry stumbled and fell, bringing Hermoine down with him. She shrieked and landed on him with an 'oof!' 

"Harry!" she said, rolling of him and wiping tears from her eyes. She gave him another awkward hug as he attempted to right himself. "Oh Merlin, we thought you were dead! When Ron said you'd gone, a-and then I got that letter this morning..." 

Ron cleared his throat pointedly, halting Hermione's rush of words. Harry stared up at his best friend, his throat suddenly tight. Ron held out his hand and Harry took it. Ron pulled him to his feet and Harry couldn't help it-he found himself grinning like a fool again. 

"Glad you're back, mate," Ron said. He helped Hermione up and they all stood there, smiling at each other and shuffling awkwardly. 

"Erm, are Dean and Seamus and Neville around?" Harry asked pointedly. 

Ron waved his hand toward the fireplace, where all three of their dormmates sat, surrounded by books and looking particularly frazzled. "McGonagall set a near impossible essay on human transfigurations. No one's really slept since." 

"Let's go upstairs," Harry said quietly. "I've got something to tell you." Once the three of them were safely ensconced in the boys' dormitory with the door closed, though, Hermione began speaking before he got the chance, wringing her hands with worry. 

"Why didn't you tell us about the prophecy before, Harry?" she asked, her eyes full of doubt and pain. "I mean, I knew there was something, obviously, but I never imagined... I thought it was just the thing with Ginny, and _really_ Harry, you should have told us!" she finished breathlessly. 

Ron was staring at him, his freckles standing out starkly against the white of his face. "Harry, mate..." he said faintly, looking decidedly ill, "I don't know what to say." 

Harry shrugged and gave them both a wan smile. "We always kind of knew, though, didn't we? I mean, just because it was prophesized doesn't change anything. I always knew that in the end, it'd come down to him and me." 

"Him and _us_," Ron corrected, giving Harry such a fierce look that he didn't dare argue. 

"So... are you two still angry with me?" Harry blurted suddenly. 

"Well, you were a right prat," Hermione said. "But considering the extenuating circumstances of looming death and apocalypse, I suppose we can find it in our hearts to forgive you." 

Harry let out a breath he hadn't even realized he'd been holding. "Speaking of death and apocalypse," he said, slumping onto his bed, "Something else happened while I was gone..." And he told them about Cassandra's Door-the Found Door-and his vision. 

He felt strangely hesitant, even now, telling them about Cassandra, but a part of him felt like they deserved to know everything. He'd kept so much from them already, particularly about the prophecy... now that he'd finally come clean about it, he didn't want to hide anything anymore. Buffy was right, in a way-his friends were assets. He'd never have made it this far without them. Hell, he'd probably dead several times over if they hadn't been there to help him through. 

"Damn, Harry," Ron said when he'd finished telling them everything. 

"Don't swear, Ron," Hermione chided. She sighed heavily, rubbing her temples. "Well you know, Professor McGonagall's always said that Divination is a very wooly subject. And honestly, I'm a bit skeptical about this Door. There's no mention of it anywhere in _Hogwarts, A History_-I'd have remembered something about a door that gave visions. How can we even be sure it wasn't some illusion, some kind of spell Willow worked? I still don't trust them," she added worriedly. 

Harry nodded hopefully, but that night as he lay in bed staring up at the dark red of his canopy, he couldn't help but remember his vision. The details flashed in his mind's eye, exceptionally clear in all their horror. To Harry it felt as if he had really been there, as if the whole thing had already happened and he was just waiting in a strange sort of limbo for time to catch up to his perception of it. Hermione's words rang hollow in his ears, meaningless compared to the terrible certainty of his vision and Cassandra's bleak prophecy. 


	14. School Hard

A/N: Thanks to everyone who reviewed chapter 13. It's been almost a year and a half since I started Watcher's Council, and if you've stuck with me this long, you're amazing. I promise it'll be finished by July, when HBP comes out. Thanks to my beta, sapphirescarlet.

* * *

Chapter 14: School Hard

_"Dates are things normal girls have. Girls who have time to think about nail polish and facials. You know what I think about? Ambush tactics. Beheading. Not exactly the stuff dreams are made of." -Buffy, "Halloween"_

Hermione stirred the contents of the cauldron with three careful, precise strokes counter clockwise, her brow furrowed in concentration. A bead of sweat trickled from her hair line, leaving a salty streak on her cheek, but she did not move to brush it away. All her attention was centered on the simmering liquid in front of her.

"What color is it supposed to be?" She asked as she removed the ladle and placed it gently on the cloth next to the toilet upon which her cauldron sat.

"A dark purple, with silvery mist," Ron said, reading from _Most Potente Potions_, which lay open on his lap.

Hermione took a step back from the cauldron with a satisfied nod. "Well, that's it then," she told Harry and Ron. "Now we just need to put the dagger in. You can do that, Harry. I need to record my observations of the results in order to set up the Arithmantical equations later."

"Er, right," said Harry. Now that the Vrai Vue potion was finally complete and they'd soon know the truth about Ginny, Harry wasn't so sure he actually wanted to know. He remembered what Cassandra had told him in the clearing-that knowledge can be as terrible as it is useful. What if it turned out that Ginny wasn't under a spell at all, but acting the way she had been because it was what she wanted-because Malfoy was what she wanted? What would he do then?

"Harry?" Hermione asked gently, bringing him back to himself. "I'm ready. Go on."

Swallowing hard, Harry moved forward and tossed Ginny's dagger into the cauldron before he could think about it any further. For a moment nothing happened. Their heavy breathing and the steady drip of a leaky tap echoed along the grimy tiles of Myrtle's bathroom in the seemingly endless seconds between the muted splash of the dagger falling into the potion and the reaction, when it finally came. Harry was just beginning to wonder if perhaps they'd gotten something wrong when sparks began to shoot from the surface of the potion, reminding him sickeningly of the potion that had restored Voldemort to his body. Harry backed away quickly to watch from a safe distance as the purple liquid began to bubble and roil alarmingly. The silver vapor swirled in strange patterns, shifting so quickly that the sight was almost hypnotizing. The only sounds in the bathroom were the scratch of Hermione's quill as her hand flew across a long sheet of parchment, and Harry and Ron's shallow breaths as they watched, entranced. Hermione gazed fixedly at the whirling mass of mist hovering above the cauldron, filling the parchment with her tiny, precise handwriting.

Harry didn't know how long he stood there, staring at the rapidly shifting designs in the vapor, enthralled. Everything else in his life—all the angst and hardship and death and pain—was forgotten for those brief moments. It wasn't until he heard Hermione calling his name, her voice snapping slightly in annoyance, that he came back to himself.

"Honestly, Harry," she said, looking up at him quizzically as she rolled up her parchment, now completely filled. "I've been calling your name for ages. Thank Merlin it's Friday-I can get started analyzing these results straight away."

"Right. Er, shouldn't we fish Ginny's dagger out of that cauldron? If she hasn't already missed it, she's bound to soon," Harry pointed out.

Ron grimaced as he stared into the cauldron. "The potion's gone all gooey, like some sort of slimy, sludgy...ugh."

"Very articulate, Ron," said Hermione with biting sarcasm. "It's supposed to look like that. Stop whining and just fetch out the dagger."

Harry regarded her questioningly. She wasn't usually so sharpish, at least not to him and Ron. Something had to be bothering her, for her to act like that.

"Don't get your knickers in a twist," Ron muttered under his breath. "Bloody woman ordering me about," he added bitterly as he reached into the cauldron with a look of disgust marring his face. "Oh, gross. This is truly, absolutely, the most disgusting thing I've ever... Urgh!"

With a final grunt that twisted his face into an expression of utter distaste, Ron pulled out Ginny's dagger, holding it delicately between his thumb and forefinger. The once-silver knife was covered with a brown sludge that dripped thickly from the tip of the blade, leaving large muddy splotches on the already filthy floor of Myrtle's bathroom.

"Well that's it, then," Hermione said briskly. She Vanished the potion with a flick of her wand and gathered up her supplies. "Bring my book, would you Harry?" Without looking to see if Harry did as she asked, Hermione swept out of the bathroom, her nose already buried in her parchment.

"What was that all about?" Harry asked as he stuffed Hermione's book into his bag, heedless of its age and value.

"How should I know?" Ron replied. "I'm just a stupid boy, I don't know anything. Apparently I'm not good for anything but the occasional snog. I'm just not boyfriend material." He said all this under his breath very quickly, almost as if he didn't quite realize Harry was still there, listening.

"Er, well," said Harry helplessly. "I wish I could help you, mate, but I only ever had the one date with Cho, and we both know what a miserable failure that was."

Ron shrugged and practically fled the bathroom, still muttering, leaving a dumbfounded Harry staring after him. Harry just caught sight of Ron's face as he left, cheeks flushed red with embarrassment.

Harry headed for the library to begin his homework, avoiding the common room altogether in hopes of missing what was sure to be a spectacular row between his best friends. It had been over a week since he'd returned with Willow and Buffy, and he still had not caught up with all his work. He'd missed McGonagall's first two lectures on human transformation theory, and had been desperately attempting to understand the reading ever since. He had yet to discover even one element of the potion Snape had set him for the unknown lab, although he was now almost certain it was an Undetectable Poison, probably one they'd covered during his fourth year, when he'd been so distracted by the Tri-Wizard Tournament. In fact, the only class Harry wasn't behind in was Defense, and that was only because the professors had been off fetching him back to Hogwarts, instead of teaching their classes.

Harry found an empty table near the back of the library. Nearly all the best tables had been claimed by fifth and seventh year students, who had taken to camping out beneath the disapproving nose of Madame Pince, staying in the library until the lanterns flickered and died, forcing them back to their common rooms. Although the sixth years did not have to sit the N.E.W.T.s until the following spring, Harry found himself loaded down with work that was far more difficult than he was used to. He dug out his Transfiguration text with a sigh, trying to put Ron and Hermione's behavior out of his mind.

An hour later he felt as if he was finally beginning to understand how partial human transformations were possible when he heard what sounded distinctly like quiet sobbing from the stacks directly behind him. Harry tried to ignore it (probably just some fifth year snapping under the pressure, he told himself), but after several minutes he closed his book in frustration, knowing he'd never be able to concentrate for wondering about the crying. Pretending to need a book from the Astronomy section just behind him to the right, Harry snuck down the aisle of towering books, moving as quietly as he could. As the noise grew louder, from quiet sobs to rather loud wails, Harry could tell that whoever was making it was opposite him in the next aisle, and extremely upset. Harry pulled a thick, heavy book from the shelf and peered through the space he'd created, trying to get a look at whoever was making the racket. After a few moments during which all he could see was the motes of dust from the book settling onto the shelf, Harry could just make out two people standing close together.

It was Ginny and Malfoy. Ginny was the one who'd been crying. Her back was to him, but Harry could tell she was still crying by the teary sound of her voice and the slight trembling of her shoulders. "I don't know how much longer I can keep this up, Draco!" She whispered. "It's just too much, and I can't... I can't..."

Malfoy pulled her into his arms, cradling her against his chest with a look of concern on his pale, pointed face that struck Harry as simply wrong. "Shh..." He whispered, stroking his long fingers through her hair. She let out another sob and buried her face into the front of his robes. "Hey," Malfoy said soothingly. "Hey, it'll be all right. You've just got to let me help you more, that's all. We'll get you through this."

Ginny pulled back slightly and tilted her head back to look up at Malfoy. "I know," she said sheepishly. "Sometimes it's just so hard..."

Malfoy smiled softly and bent down to kiss her. Harry turned away quickly, feeling suddenly ill. He hurried back to his table and packed up his things in record time, not bothering to check behind him as he left the library to make sure Malfoy and Ginny had not seen him. As he made his way to Gryffindor tower to tell Ron and Hermione what he'd seen, he wondered bleakly what it was Malfoy could possibly be helping Ginny with.

"What have you got for your third example, Harry?" Ron asked, worrying at the tip of his quill with his thumb nail. "Only I can't seem to find one for irreversible spells gone wrong."

Harry shrugged and began reading over his own Defense essay ("When good Wicca goes bad—give three reasons with examples why calling on the forces of nature can be dangerous re: the threefold rule"), making sure that he'd detailed each of his reasons and found examples for each one. It was Sunday night, and Harry felt as if he hadn't had a weekend at all, what with all the catch up he'd had to do from the days he'd missed. Potions alone had taken all of Saturday. While Ron held an all-day Quidditch practice to form strategies to play two players short (with which Harry had refused to help in no uncertain terms), Harry had spent the entire afternoon in the student labs with Hermione, attempting to narrow down some of the elements of his unknown. He'd had some success at last; by the end of the day he was quite sure it contained essence of pieris japonica, better known as Lily-of-the-Valley bush, which definitely indicated a poison of some kind. Harry had cringed when he'd discovered it—he supposed Snape thought he was being clever. Now all he'd have to do was narrow it down to ingredients found in different poisons to find his match.

Sunday had been much of the same, only instead of the potions lab, Harry had been stuck in the library all day with Ron, working on Charms and Defense. It had been a miserable weekend. Harry was almost looking forward to classes the next day, if only for a bit of a change.

"Harry, are you listening? I asked if you've got an example for irreversible spells?" Ron asked impatiently.

"What?" Harry asked, lost in his essay. "Oh, er, sure. I used that love spell case. Dido Romanus, that girl who cast the love spell on her brother instead of her lover. Remember? He went insane and had to be locked away?"

"Wish I didn't remember," Ron muttered. He picked up his quill and began scribbling across his parchment while Harry retrieved a fresh sheet from his bag to write out a fair copy of his essay. He had just begun when Hermione dropped into the empty chair at their table, looking exhausted but satisfied.

"Haven't seen you since last night," Ron remarked lightly. Harry was relieved that the two of them were not fighting. Instead, they seemed to be mutually ignoring the situation by avoiding mentioning anything even remotely controversial, which pretty much excluded anything but schoolwork and their new favorite topic—the prophecy.

"Well I've been busy with the Arithmantical readings, haven't I?" Hermione asked waspishly. She looked frazzled and exhausted, as if she hadn't slept the night before. "Now do you want to know what I've found or not?"

Harry's head shot up abruptly, his essay forgotten. "Is it… what we suspected?" he asked in a low voice, not wanting to be overheard.

Hermione couldn't quite meet his eyes. "She's definitely under some kind of spell," Hermione said quietly, her voice full of worry. "But…it's like nothing I've seen before. Normally a spell will lay on the surface of the blood. It _affects_ the person, but it doesn't actually _change_ them. But this spell… it's almost as if it's infused in her blood. I'll need to configure the magicalculus matrices before I can be absolutely certain, but this…" she trailed off, shaking her head. "This may be beyond me. I suppose I could ask Professor Vector about it—you know, what sort of spell would react this way."

Harry felt a surge of relief at Hermione's words, closely followed by a crashing wave of worry mingled with guilt. "What does this mean?" he asked quickly. "Is she in danger from this spell, whatever it is?"

Hermione shook her head helplessly. "I just don't know, Harry. I need to keep looking at the results. We'll be able to tell more once I've figured out which spell it is, exactly. _If_ I can figure it out, that is."

Harry stared blankly at Hermione. He'd never seen her look so lost or confused, never seen her confront a spell or potion that she couldn't work through. But this thing Ginny was under, whatever it was, had thrown her for a loop. She looked as if her entire world had simply spun off its axis and left her behind to clear up the mess.

Ron stood up quickly. Not looking at either of his friends, he mumbled something about needing a book from the dormitory and grabbed up his bag, disappearing through the library doors without a further word of explanation. Hermione watched him go, her eyes suddenly filled with tears. "I'm going after him," she said finally, sounding surprisingly firm despite her tears. "This is getting ridiculous."

Harry watched her go, feeling inexplicably sad and confused. Nothing was simple anymore, particularly not his relationships with other people. Even the once almost comforting constant of Ron and Hermione's bickering was no longer the trivial annoyance it used to be.

"Find a partner," Willow said from the front of the classroom, giving them all a small, tired smile. The students immediately began clamoring for partners; Ron and Hermione chose one another, of course, and Harry was left with Neville, as always. He smiled gamely at Neville, who shrugged as if to apologize.

"Okay. So. Today we're starting Glamours. We'll just do some basic stuff today, eye color, maybe some slight appearance modification. We'll get into the heavier stuff later. Let's see who did the reading. To start off, you'll all need…" she paused, waiting for someone to chime in with the answer. Harry, who had not done the reading, slouched in his desk and tried to become invisible.

"We'll each need one pink rose and one red candle," Padma Patil recited, sounding like a textbook. "And for the Glamour to change one's appearance slightly, we'll need pink candles."

Next to him, Hermione's hand came down. She shot a nasty look at Padma, who smirked back.

"Right. So, everyone have your supply kits? Open your books to page one hundred and fifty two. The incantation is there. Try to follow it exactly. The first time I tried a Glamour, I ended up giving myself a giant wart on the end of my nose that wouldn't go away for an entire week."

The class, tittering with laughter, began to set up their candles. Neville retrieved a rose for each of them from a vase on Willow's desk. "All right then, Harry," he said, his voice quivering slightly with nervousness. "What color shall I make your eyes?"

"Er, how about hazel?" Harry said. His father had had hazel eyes. Ever since he'd entered the wizarding world, people had been telling him that he had his mother's eyes. It would be strange to change his eye color, if only for an hour or two.

Neville set up his candle and lit it carefully, then laid his rose down to the right of it. Flipping through the pages of his copy of _Grimmoire__, Standard Edition, _Neville smoothed out the correct page. "Here goes nothing," he muttered, taking a deep breath.

Harry watched the other boy with bated breath. The last thing he need was a giant wart on his nose, or, knowing his luck, a pulsating boil of some kind. He didn't need to give Malfoy any more fodder to make his life miserable.

"This is to touch," Neville recited, placing his palm over the rose, "this is to see," he continued, moving his palm over the flickering flame of the candle. "Shape and forment for all to see. By the powers of three times three," at this he put both hands over Harry's eyes, blinding him momentarily, "as I will it, so shall it be."

Neville removed his hands. Harry's eyes fluttered open and Neville gasped in surprise. "I've done it, Harry!" he exclaimed excitedly. "It's awfully strange to see you with hazel eyes instead of green."

"Here, Harry," Parvati called from across the room. "I've got a mirror you can use." She dug into her bag and pulled out a small hand mirror that Harry had seen her use countless times to fix her make up and hair between classes. She Banished it to him and he caught it deftly out of the air—Seeker's reflexes.

The change was more drastic than he'd supposed. He'd never really thought eye color was all that important but now, staring at a Harry that was _not_ him, exactly, it seemed immensely so. The image in the mirror looked so like his father that Harry confused himself for a moment, feeling as if he was back in Snape's pensieve, looking at his father's sixteen year old self, or perhaps caught in some strange time warp.

"Brilliant," was all he could manage. Harry set the mirror aside and turned to his book, trying to distract himself from the strange, hot feeling in his stomach. "All right then," he muttered, staring at the page. "It looks as if I can change your hair color with this spell here," Harry said, pointing to the page. "How do you feel about being a red head?"

"Er, all right," Neville said. "It will wear off though, right? I won't have to go searching for the counter spell somewhere?"

Harry grinned at him. "Oh, it'll wear off. Eventually." Harry set up the spell carefully. He dug through his canister of Defense supplies until he found what he was looking for: a fat, pink candle. He lit it with a poke of his wand and began reciting the spell, reading word for word from the _Grimmoire_

"Blazing fire as you dance, call upon my sacred glance. Call upon my second sight, give Neville red hair with your sacred light. Blazing fire, shining bright, give him now his second sight."

Harry looked up from the book just in time to watch Neville's hair change color. The color spread from his hairline back, staining his sandy mop like ink soaking into a piece of parchment. At first Harry thought the spell had worked, but then, to his horror, he saw that, instead of red hair, he had given Neville…

"It's pink," Neville gasped, picking up Parvati's mirror and staring at his image, his mouth gaping open in shock. "Harry, you've gone and made my hair pink!"

The rest of the class turned to look, gasping and giggling despite the fact that many of them also had oddly colored hair, and Lavender seemed to have sprouted tiny horns. Willow made her way over to them, shaking her head and grinning.

"I'm going to go out on a limb here and guess that you didn't actually ask for pink hair?" she asked Neville, favoring him with a kind smile. Neville stared back at her miserably.

"I don't know what went wrong," Harry mumbled, staring at his book with a frown as if wondering how it had failed him. "I followed the directions, spoke the incantation…"

"Harry, what's the most important thing in magic?" Willow asked. At his blank stare, she sighed. "Let me explain…is it enough to just say the words and light the right candles, do you think?"

"Er, no?" Harry ventured.

"Magic requires, well, _magic._ This isn't like your wand magic that automatically focuses your energy for you. I still say that's cheating, by the way. You have to put something of yourself into it. It isn't enough just to say the words. You have to really _mean_ them. Now this spell, it needs eye contact. You have to be staring into the flame of the candle. Where were you looking?" she asked.

"At the book," Harry admitted.

"The evil spirit of book dependency strikes again!" Willow joked. "Why don't you give it another try. And remember, the book can't do the magic for you. It can only sit there and, you know, be booky."

Harry nodded and set the spell up again, but his mind was elsewhere, Willow's words echoing in his head. _It's not enough just to say the words. You have to mean them…_

_You need to _mean_ them, Potter…you have to really want to cause pain…_

Swallowing hard, Harry pushed the thoughts from his mind. The last thing he needed to think about right now was Bellatrix Lestrange and their aborted duel at the Ministry. He glanced up at Neville, who smiled bravely.

"You ready?" Harry asked, trying to gather himself. "Alright. Blazing fire as you dance…"

"Need any help with that?"

Harry jumped in surprise, nearly dropping the target he'd been detaching from the ceiling. He'd taught the D.A. the Conjunctivitis Curse that evening, thinking that in all likelihood, the Giants would be firmly on Voldemort's side and they'd need a way to fight them. As far as he knew, their eyes were their only real weakness, hence that particular curse. Of course, they couldn't practice aiming the curse on actual people —too dangerous—so Harry, Ron, and Hermione had set up parchment bulls-eye targets around the room. The one Harry held featured a large, charred hole through the center.

"Er, sorry?" Harry said, confused. He'd thought everyone had gone by then, but when he turned to face the speaker, he found himself looking down at Susan Bones's flushed face.

She flung her long braid over her shoulder and cleared her throat. "Do you need any help?" she repeated, shrugging.

Harry stared at her, nonplused. To his knowledge, he had not exchanged more than six or seven words with the Hufflepuff girl during as many years at school together. And yet here she was, waiting around the Room of Requirement for him to be alone, with a look on her face that clearly meant business.

"Um, sure," he said, although there were only a few targets left to take down.

She nodded briskly, pulling out her wand. "_Accio__!"_ she said, and the rest of the targets flew gracefully into her out-stretched palm. She gave him a small, embarrassed smile.

"Actually, I was just hoping I could have a word," she said. "I don't know why I made up that rubbish about helping. I suppose, well, I'm a bit nervous, you know. I've never actually done anything like this before, and you have this strange effect on me, perhaps because of all the D.A. meetings, wherein I feel as if I have to do this exactly right, or something completely dire might happen." She stopped suddenly, clapping her hand over her mouth. "Oh no. I've just verbally vomited all over you!"

Harry grinned. "At least it was only figurative vomit, then. Those stains are so hard to get out of one's robes, don't you think?"

She laughed. "Right. Well, you're probably standing there wondering, 'Is this silly girl just going to continue babbling incoherently at me all night, or does she actually have a point?'"

"I imagine you're very pointy," Harry said, then immediately flushed. "Er, that didn't quite come out right. Serves me right for trying to be witty. And Ron just told me the other day that I need to stick to the strong, silent, hero-type."

"Not at all! I mean, I am pointy! No, I don't mean that. I mean I have a point!" Susan laughed again. "Sorry, still nervous here. All right then, to the point. So. As you're probably aware, there's a Hogsmeade weekend coming up. You know, for Valentine's and all that rubbish. But I was thinking that if you didn't already have plans…"

"Are you asking me on a date?" Harry blurted, staring at her in shock. Aside from the Yule Ball, when loads of girls had asked him to go just so they could be partnered with a champion, Harry had never been asked out before. He found he quite liked the experience and the way he could make Susan flush pink with embarrassment. He'd never really noticed her before, but now that he was taking a good, long look… well she wasn't extremely pretty, like Cho, nor did she have Ginny's spark (but then, neither had Ginny, recently), but she was nice-looking in a way he'd describe as cute, and she certainly seemed pleasant enough.

Her chin went up a notch at his question and she gave him a lopsided, self-conscious smile. "Are you accepting?" she countered.

Harry thought about it for a moment. Despite their non-dating status, Ron and Hermione were sure to want time to themselves on Valentine's day. Harry knew if he didn't have some sort of plans for the weekend, he'd end up locked away in his dormitory, feeling miserable about Ginny and wondering what she was up to with Malfoy, or worse, cooped up in the dungeon labs, working on his unknown lab for Snape. That decided it—he'd much rather spend the day with Susan Bones, who seemed nice enough despite being an almost complete unknown—than thinking about anything Slytherin-related.

"Actually, that sounds brilliant," Harry said.

Susan grinned and they made plans to meet in the entrance hall after breakfast the day of the Hogsmeade visit. Harry watched Susan leave the Room of Requirement, braid swinging back and forth across her slim back, and smiled to himself.

The day of the Ravenclaw-Gryffindor Quidditch match dawned cold and clear with a chill wind that would prove difficult for the players to navigate. Harry stared out the window of his dormitory, listening to the familiar, comforting sounds of Ron's soft snores and the occasional mumble from Neville indicating that they were still deep asleep. The sun rose in a gentle shower of orange and pink sparks over the lake, reflecting on the ice-encrusted surface with a glare like fire. Harry leaned his forehead against the cool glass of the window, smiling ruefully to himself. It seemed that even when he wasn't flying, he still couldn't sleep in on game days.

Harry found himself wondering about Gryffindor's chances for the first time since he'd returned from the winter hols. He knew what he'd done—giving up Quidditch and denouncing the points system—was the right thing to do. Voldemort was raising his army even as Harry sat in this window seat watching the sun rise, and he knew it was only a matter of time before war descended upon Hogwarts. His vision through Cassandra's Door had only strengthened his certainty on the matter. Sooner than any of them could bear to imagine, a battle would be fought on school grounds: the battle for Hogwarts. Their only hope—the school's only hope—was for everyone to stand united against the rising tide of darkness slowly creeping over their world.

Even so, Harry couldn't help but sigh and wish that he, too, would be out on the pitch that day, flying as if his life depended on it. Quidditch was always the one thing he missed the most during the summer holidays with the Dursleys. Now, knowing that today he'd watch his teammates play without him (and undoubtedly lose without him), Harry felt an ache deep in his chest, as if someone had rooted around inside and removed a piece just big enough that the space where it had been rang hollow, a perpetual lack. Buffy was right in some ways when she'd told him that this was his only chance to be a real teenager. But Harry had been sacrificing bits and pieces of himself for too long to remember how to stop now. It just wasn't in his nature.

And Gryffindor would lose. There was no way they could beat Ravenclaw when they were down two players, one of them being the all-important Seeker. Harry had heard Ron discussing strategy with Seamus just the night before in the common room. Ron planned for Ginny to play Chaser and Seeker, but Harry knew that would never work. Even though Ginny had improved phenomenally since the year before when she'd first joined the team, she simply couldn't be in two places at once. Well, Harry thought with another smile, not _legally_, anyway. Harry allowed himself to indulge in a moment of frustration as he considered Gryffindor's chances. Not for the first time, he wished that he were someone else—_anyone _else. Maybe then he could be the one snoring peacefully in his bed, sleep undisturbed by nightmarish visions of past and future. Maybe then he could be the one who didn't care about school unity, as long as Gryffindor won the Quidditch cup and the Slytherins didn't win _anything, _if he could help it.

Ron grunted in his sleep and Harry turned to watch him. Ron's eyes fluttered open, staring blearily at the canopy above his bed for a few moments before he sat up slowly, rubbing his face tiredly with both hands.

"Morning," Harry said, sliding from his perch on the window seat and crossing the room slowly to sink onto his own bed. "Nervous?" he asked a bit wistfully.

Ron grunted in response and began getting ready for the day. He pulled out his Quidditch robes and laid them on the bed while he gathered up his toiletries. Harry stared at the scarlet and gold uniform enviously, feeling once again that frustrating jealousy that Ron should get to play Quidditch and have a girlfriend and a family and everything else, while Harry had had to give up what small semblance of normalcy he had for the greater good. It wasn't fair, not at all.

Ron caught him staring and sent him an odd, calculating look. "You could still play, you know," he said casually over his shoulder as he crossed the room, heading for the toilets. "I've still got time to add you to the roster."

Before Harry could respond, the door had closed behind Ron. He was left staring at the uniform, hating Ron more than he had ever thought possible. How dare Ron throw it back in his face, when he _knew_… Of course Harry wanted to play, but he couldn't, could he? He'd had to give up one of the only things that made him truly happy in some grand symbolic gesture, and now Ron was acting as if he could simply take it away, pretend it hadn't happened? Harry glared at the scarlet and gold robes on Ron's bed, robes that were fast becoming a blur as tears of anger and frustration clouded his vision. Harry wanted to hit something. No, he wanted to hit _Ron_. How dare he…!

"Harry?" Neville said gently. He let out a jaw-popping yawn and climbed out of bed, coming to stand next to Harry's. With a sigh he sat down next to Harry, watching him silently for several moments before speaking again, his round face kind but sober. "That wasn't fair," he said quietly. "But Ron… well we all know he's not the most sensitive guy around. He just wants what's best for his team, for his friends, and he knows that thing is _you_. He's a brilliant tactician, but when it comes to people, he just doesn't _think._"

"You're right," Harry whispered hoarsely, his voice trembling with anger. "It's not fair. Nothing's _ever_ fair when it comes to me, is it? I've given up so much, and he has the nerve to tell me…?"

Neville snorted. "Come off it, Harry," he said in a stern voice that surprised Harry. Harry turned to look at the other boy, shocked by the frustration and disappointment he saw on Neville's face. "All right, so you've got no parents. Well, neither have I, not really. Neither have a lot of us whose parents fought against Voldemort the first time round. And you had an awful childhood, I'll grant you that, but then so do loads of people. For Merlin's sake, Harry! My own uncle dropped me from a fourth story window. Ron and Ginny have never had anything new, and Hermione—"

"What are you trying to get at, Neville?" Harry cut in, his eyes flashing. But inside, Harry's anger was beginning to peel away from his core, leaving him feeling cold and ashamed. Neville's words were getting to him, and Harry couldn't help but feel that he was giving him a more effective version of Buffy's 'stop feeling sorry for yourself' speech. Neville didn't know about the prophecy and Voldemort, Harry reminded himself, trying to maintain his anger. Anger was clean and easy, purging in a way that made Harry feel almost free. This sudden guilt and self-loathing, on the other hand…

Neville sighed again, tiredly, as if he'd explained this already more times than he cared to. He met Harry's eyes steadily. "I'm saying that I understand at least a little of what you're feeling. It's not fair, what you've got to go through. There're expectations for you, and high ones at that. But you know what, Harry? I'd give just about anything to be in your place, instead of in mine. You've got friends—true, loyal friends who would protect you to the death if need be. Everyone in the wizarding world believes in you. We all you have faith in you. I can't even get Gran to believe me when I say I conjured a Patronus."

Harry stared at Neville for a few moments, nonplused. His anger had drained away, and with its loss came the knowledge that Neville was, well, _right_. Ron had been a prat, saying Harry could still fly for Gryffindor that afternoon, but then Ron was always a bit of a prat when it came down to it. That didn't change the fact that whenever Harry had needed him most, Ron had believed in him and been there for him.

"As touching as this moment is," said Dean groggily from behind his drawn curtains, "some of us have to get our beauty rest in order to commentate today, so would you two poufs kindly _shut up_ and leave me in peace?"

Harry grinned at Neville, who shrugged ruefully. Grabbing Harry's pillow, Neville crept over to Dean's bed and threw back the curtains, letting shafts of bright early morning sunshine into Dean's cocoon of bedding.

"No rest for the wicked, mate!" Neville shouted as he brought the pillow down onto Dean's head with a crow of triumph. Dean emerged from his blankets in a cloud of feathers, only to be smacked again in the side of the head with Harry's pillow. Seamus, awakened by the noise of three yelling boys, poked his head out from his drawn curtains, watched Dean snatch up his own pillow and launch himself at Neville, then closed his curtains again with a sleepy mumble.

"That's it, Longbottom!" Dean yelled as he pummeled the other boy. "You're going down!" Neville's reply was to shriek with laughter, then sputter into a coughing fit when several of the small, poofy feathers from the pillows took the opportunity to fly into his open mouth. Harry grinned and shifted backwards onto his bed, content to watch.

"Are you even going to come?" Ron asked moodily from his seat across the Gryffindor table. He glared into his eggs and began stabbing at them viciously, as if they had pronounced a deadly slur on his family name. Hermione gave him an exasperated look and plucked the fork from his fingers unceremoniously.

"Stop trying to murder the innocent eggs, Ron," she said, but her eyes flicked between Harry and Ron, curiosity clear in their brown depths.

Harry paused with a forkful of potatoes halfway up to his mouth to answer. "Of course I'm coming, you git. Do you really think I'd miss this? Didn't you always watch my matches?"

"Well, yeah," Ron said slowly, watching Harry with his eyes narrowed. "But that was different, wasn't it? I wasn't on a crusade against the house system, was I?"

Harry shrugged. "It's not about that. And anyway, I fully plan to wear my invisibility cloak during the match. You're my friend, and I'll go to support you," Harry continued quickly, before Ron could protest, "but I can't be obvious about it, can I? Everyone will say I'm a hypocrite."

"A three syllable word, Potter," a cold voice said from behind him. "I didn't realize your vocabulary stretched beyond the occasional grunt or curse."

Harry twisted around to find Draco Malfoy smiling maliciously down at him, waving a small sapphire and bronze flag gleefully in his face. Harry narrowed his eyes at the Slytherin. They hadn't spoken since that day on the train, not even to trade insults. Harry thought it must've been Ginny's influence—that she'd told Malfoy to lay off the Gryffindors. Obviously, he'd been fooling himself.

"What do you want, Malfoy?" Hermione asked finally, after several minutes of silence. Ron was once again attacking his eggs, clearly bent on murder. Harry was amazed by his friend's restraint, although he supposed most of it had to do with not wanting to be suspended from the game before it had even begun.

"Shut up, Granger," Malfoy said, although that annoyingly superior smile was still plastered on his face, as though he couldn't quite help it. "I've not stooped so low as to converse with Mudbloods quite yet. Anyway, Potter, I just came over to thank you." He smiled beatifically at Harry and offered him one delicate hand. Harry narrowed his eyes. He couldn't help but notice that Malfoy's nails were manicured. How could Ginny stand him? His hands were _manicured_, for Merlin's sake!

"I haven't done anything for you, Malfoy," Harry said. He eyed Malfoy's hand cagily, wondering briefly, almost hopefully, if Ginny had sent Malfoy over here to make amends or something. Malfoy's next words dashed all thoughts of reconciliation, however brief and entirely unwanted, from his head.

"Well, of course you have." Malfoy let his hand drop to his side, subtly wiping it on his robes, as if he'd actually touched Harry and now sought to remove any impurities Harry may have given him. Malfoy tossed his head imperiously and wrapped his scarf more tightly about his neck—Ravenclaw colors, to match his flag. "It's because of you and your idiotic attempts to unite the school against You-Know-Who," at this he chuckled as if highly amused by the very idea, "that Slytherin is going to win the Quidditch Cup this year. We'll finally be getting what we deserve."

"What you deserve, Malfoy," said Hermione, her eyes flashing dangerously, "is to be exposed for what you really are! A mindless follower, a bigot who spouts his father's philosophy without even bothering to research the facts!"

"Hermione," Harry said, his voice holding a warning, "he's not worth it."

But Hermione seemed not to have heard him. Instead, she stood from the table, palms flat on its polished surface, and leaned toward Malfoy menacingly. Malfoy stared back haughtily, looking calm and collected and wholly unaffected by Hermione's rage. When Hermione spoke again, her voice shook with fury.

"You know, Malfoy, I used to think you were intelligent. There was that one time, back in third year, when you topped my score in Transfiguration… and of course you've always been top in the class in Potions, but I've always assumed that it was mainly due to favoritism… Nevertheless, I'd thought you had brains enough to think for yourself, but all you are—all you've ever been—is a spoilt brat who turned into an equally spoilt racist!"

"Hermione, stop!" Ron whispered frantically. Most of Gryffindor had turned to watch the confrontation, and a few of the teachers at the head table were beginning to take notice.

Malfoy, on the other hand, had not moved a muscle during Hermione's tirade. His only acknowledgement was the cold fury burning in his eyes. Carefully, he flicked a piece of non-existent lint from his cuff, looking extremely bored and indifferent. His eyes flicked to Hermione, who was still glaring at him, her face flushed red with anger.

"Oh, I'm sorry," he said innocently. "Were you talking? Only, when Mudbloods are speaking, all I can seem to hear is, 'I'm a filthy bint who should've never been born.'"

At this statement Ron swore and stood up next to Hermione, having apparently forgotten his fears of being banned from Quidditch. Harry stood up as well and turned to face Malfoy fully. Standing, he was very close to the other boy, so close that he could practically feel Malfoy trembling where he stood. The Slytherin looked outwardly calm, but the confrontation had affected him more than he was willing to admit.

Harry leaned closer still, so that he could whisper directly in Malfoy's ear. This was not something he wanted Hermione and Ron, much less the rest of the school, to hear.

"If you ever threaten her again," he whispered, "I swear to _god_, I'll kill you."

"Mr. Potter, Mr. Malfoy!" Professor McGonagall gasped, appearing next to them quite suddenly. Or, Harry supposed, he'd just been too distracted to notice her arrival. Harry took a step back from Malfoy and resumed his seat at the Gryffindor table. He picked up his fork and began calmly eating his potatoes, watching Malfoy all the while. Hermione's anger had shaken him, but Harry's threat seemed to have actually frightened him. Malfoy turned to McGonagall, a look of immense relief warming the cool grey of his eyes.

"Professor," Malfoy said quickly, shooting Harry a look that clearly meant for him to keep quiet, "lovely day for a Quidditch match, is it not?"

McGonagall paused with her mouth half-way open, surely on the verge of giving them all a good talking to, confused. She blinked, then opened her mouth again, undaunted. "What _is_ the meaning of this, you four?" she snapped. "I'm getting sick and tired of your bickering. And you, Potter! Stirring up trouble between the houses! I'm ashamed, after all that talk about unity!"

"It wasn't like that, Professor!" Hermione said quickly. "Mal—er, Draco," the name rolled off her tongue like a particularly difficult to pronounce foreign word, "was just wishing us good luck today, that's all. Weren't you, _Draco_?"

Ron turned to stare at her incredulously. McGonagall wasn't buying it for a second either, her eyes flitting suspiciously from Hermione to Ron to Malfoy to Harry. Malfoy gave Hermione a shrewd, assessing look before responding.

"Absolutely," he said smoothly. "Of course, I'll be cheering for Ravenclaw, Professor," he added with a smirk and a little wave of his flag. "After all, if they win, Slytherin is a sure thing for the Quidditch Cup. Professor Snape wants that cup back—you understand."

"Yes, I suppose he does," McGonagall muttered. "Well, off with you, then. The match is about to start, anyway."

Malfoy didn't pass up the chance to give them another superior sneer before he left, waving his flag jauntily at them as he did so. The three of them watched him go, sending identical glares into the back of his robes.

Harry cleared his throat uncomfortably and searched for something to say, anything that would break the tension. "So, uh, good luck then, Ron. I'm planning to watch from Hufflepuff—can't imagine many of them would bother to show up. Er, not that you'll be able to see me."

Ron looked as if he wanted to protest, but a quelling glare from Hermione nipped that in the bud. He shrugged instead. "All right then. At least you'll be there. Only it's not as if we even have a chance against Ravenclaw. Damn Malfoy for being right about something! You'd think at least one of those uppity brains would've quit the team in protest by now!"

Harry covered his grin behind a mouthful of food. Ron left shortly thereafter to prepare for the match, leaving Hermione and Harry to finish their breakfasts in the quickly emptying Great Hall. Hermione sipped at her coffee, lost in thought, while Harry devoured his food.

"I'm still having trouble with those readings," Hermione said finally. She cupped her hands around her mug, staring down into the dregs of her coffee with a look of great concentration, as if she was trying to read her future in the grounds.

Harry pushed his plate aside, finished, and gazed at her with concern. "That's bad, right? Hermione, tell me honestly—what kind of spell could have affected Ginny so deeply that it changed her very nature?"

Hermione did not meet his eyes, but continued to stare into her cup. "It's complicated, Harry," she said. "I… I do know something that might be a factor, that might be interfering with the readings, but I promised I wouldn't say anything, and I'm already saying too much. You've got to understand that Ron can't ever know, it's far too dangerous and—"

"Hermione," Harry said, realization dawning on him. "Is this… look, I heard you and Ginny arguing one night, back at Giles's house over Christmas hols. I didn't hear much, just enough to know that there's something you're not telling us. I haven't said anything before, because, well—"

"You _knew_?" Hermione gasped, her eyes flying up to catch his. "But why didn't you tell Ron, o-or ask me…?"

Harry smiled wanly. "I was about to get to that, if you'd have let me finish. I guess I was just embarrassed. I felt guilty for having overheard you and Ginny. And besides that, well, I trust you, Hermione. You've kept secrets from us before, and you usually have a good reason. There are things with Ginny… well there are things I haven't told you either."

Hermione nodded slowly and gave him a teary smile. "I just… you'll help me, won't you Harry? I promised Ginny that I wouldn't tell her secret, and I won't, but Ron… he won't understand that. She's his only sister and he takes his duty to protect her very seriously even if, well, she doesn't necessarily need protecting."

Harry raised his eyebrows at her. "She doesn't need protecting?" he echoed. "That's not what you were saying when the two of you argued."

Hermione flushed. "Well, not in the way you mean. She's made some terrible decisions lately—I mean honestly, Draco Malfoy!—but she's right about one thing. She's not a child anymore, and we can't keep trying to hide her away from the rest of the world."

Harry shrugged. "I suppose that would matter if she were actually talking to any of us at the moment, but as it is…"

Hermione sighed tiredly. "I know. Look, just do me a favor, will you? When Ron mentions Ginny, try to change the subject. I don't want to have to lie to him, but…" She took a deep breath and closed her eyes briefly before opening them again to give Harry a hard stare. "Sometimes knowing the truth is far more painful than not knowing at all."

Harry nodded, feeling as if for once, he understood Hermione perfectly.

Harry watched the match from the Hufflepuff stands, which were nearly empty as their team was no longer in existence, much less in the running for the Quidditch cup. A few Hufflepuffs had turned out to cheer on their friends from Gryffindor and Ravenclaw, but even so Harry managed to find an entire empty bench to himself. He kept his invisibility cloak wrapped tightly around him, enjoying the freedom of being able to do something as simple as watch a Quidditch match without feeling the stares of the other students or wonder what they were whispering about him behind their cupped hands.

The match itself was nothing short of painful. Ginny was brilliant, scoring several goals while searching for the snitch. The Ravenclaw team had the advantage of a full complement of players, though, and quickly began pulling ahead of Gryffindor. The more goals Ravenclaw scored, the less confidence Ron seemed to have. When it was all over, Harry thought that, despite Gryffindor's handicaps, they might have won if only the snitch had appeared sooner; instead, the game lasted for several long, grueling hours. By the time dusk had fallen, the snitch had failed to show even a glimmer of itself, allowing Ravenclaw to take advantage of Ginny's dual role and the lack of a Gryffindor Beater to pull ahead by nearly three hundred points.

The most exciting moment of the match came at the very end. Ginny, who had all but given up Seeking to concentrate on scoring, fell into a sudden, near vertical dive. For a moment Harry thought her broom had failed, that she was falling to a certain death on the hard pitch below. But then she began to spin, whipping her broom in tight spirals to force it to move faster than it was meant to. Harry found himself standing suddenly along with the rest of the crowd, shouting himself hoarse as Ginny's broom began to vibrate at the maneuvers she was forcing it through. Harry could just make out her face, frozen in a dark scowl of concentration, teeth clenched around her bottom lip. He was screaming but no one noticed—they were yelling too, far too loudly to hear him. Harry was sure she would crash, she was so close to the pitch, and then with an easy, graceful turn, she spiraled out of her dive, hand clutched around a pair of fluttering silver wings. Ginny had caught the snitch, but Gryffindor had lost.

Harry heard Dean's voice announcing the end of the game above the raucous cheering from the Ravenclaw stands. "And a valiant effort by Gryffindor Chaser—and now Seeker—Ginny Weasley, but it won't be enough to save the game for Gryffindor. Ravenclaw wins by two hundred and five points, putting them in the lead for the House Cup! The final will be Slytherin versus Ravenclaw, but we've got a long wait until then. Good luck teams, and congratulations to Ravenclaw!"

Harry closed his eyes briefly, wishing at that moment that things could have been different. He watched Ginny hop off her broom, looking frustrated and dejected. Harry could only imagine what it must be like, to make a fabulous catch like the one she had, but still find yourself on the losing side. Ron dismounted and headed across the pitch to shake hands with the Ravenclaw captain, looking as if his favorite uncle had suddenly keeled over dead. Harry began making his way down to the pitch, threading his way carefully through the small crowd of Hufflepuffs. A glint of silver caught his eye, and Harry turned, distracted, to watch the Gryffindor team shake hands with the Ravenclaws. All except Ginny.

The glint of silver that had caught Harry's eye was Malfoy, or rather, Malfoy's hair reflecting the bright sunlight of the cold February afternoon. He stood with Ginny on the sidelines, gesturing wildly at her. For a moment Harry thought they must be arguing; Ginny looked horrified and angry. She yelled something back at Malfoy, and Harry found himself hoping fervently that she would hit him—it certainly looked as if she wanted to. But then she grabbed Malfoy's hand and the two of them took off across the pitch in the direction of the Forbidden Forest.

Harry shoved his way through the crowd, not caring at that point that he might be noticed. He had to catch up to Malfoy and Ginny. He had a feeling deep in his gut that whatever they had argued about, wherever they had run off to, held the key to the mystery that Ginny had become. Harry jumped the last few steps of the stands and sprinted across the pitch toward the forest, hoping he wasn't too late to catch them.

By the time Harry reached the edge of the forest, full night had fallen. The moon shone brightly above, bathing the lawns in an unreal silvery light that made Harry feel as if he were dreaming. He saw another bright flash of silver—not moonlight this time, but something else—several yards ahead in the trees. Pulling his cloak more tightly around him, Harry headed into the forest.

He had only been walking for a few minutes when the sound of raised, angry voices reached his ears, just a few more yards ahead, where Harry knew there was an opening in the trees. He hurried his steps until he saw the clearing ahead. Two people stood at the edge of it, arguing in harsh tones. Harry ducked behind a wide oak tree to listen, wincing as his foot snapped a large twig with a loud crack.

"Did you hear that?" Harry frowned. He had thought the people in the clearing were Ginny and Malfoy, but that was Buffy's voice.

"Probably just an animal. We are in a forest, in case you hadn't noticed," said a familiar, drawling voice—Spike.

"Thank you, Captain Obvious. Whatever. Look, you have to keep your goons under control, Spike! I can't believe you let this happen. That kid could have died, and who knows how long that memory spell Willow did on him will hold? You could've ruined everything!"

"They're vampires, Buffy, not saints. What do you expect, with all that fresh meat practically begging to be tasted, all gathered in one small convenient place? It's like a bloody McDonald's out there."

"You're disgusting!" Buffy spat. "I can't believe I ever let you touch me!"

"Give it a rest, love. _Let_ me touch you? You _begged_ for it, you hypocritical bint!"

"I hate you," came the whispered reply. Buffy's voice broke on a sob, and the conversation ceased for a few moments. Harry shifted against the tree, feeling immensely uncomfortable that he had eavesdropped on such a personal conversation, feeling very glad that he could not see the two of them from behind his hiding place. He waited, hoping they would begin discussing the boy who could have died again. Buffy's sobs slowly died out, replaced by low, breathy gasps. Spike laughed knowingly, and Buffy gasped again. Cheeks burning with embarrassment, Harry realized that they weren't likely to begin talking again anytime soon and fled, racing down the moonlit path out of the forest and trying desperately not to think about what Buffy and Spike must be doing. He didn't want to know, he told himself. He shouldn't have heard any of it in the first place, and now he sort of wished he hadn't.

Harry dreamt that night that he was back in the stands, watching Ginny dive for the snitch. Only this time, she lost control of her broom and was falling, her mouth open in a silent scream, her brown eyes filled with terror. Instead of the hard, packed earth of the pitch, a tattered black curtain fluttered below her, waiting patiently for her to fall through.

* * *

A/N: In the next chapter: Harry has his first date with Susan, overhears another mysterious conversation, and gets some action. Finally.


	15. Never Kill A Boy on the First Date

AN: Thanks to everyone who reviewed chapter 14! And special thanks to my lovely beta, sapphirescarlet. 

* * *

Chapter 15: Never Kill A Girl on the First Date

_"You know, you can laugh, but I have witnessed a millennium of treachery and oppression from the males of the species and I have nothing but contempt for the whole libidinous lot of them." -Anya, "The Prom"_

"Okay, Harry. This is an exercise in precision."

Harry looked from Willow, seated on a large, purple poof on the floor, to the single rose lying in the center of the room. The Defense classroom had been cleared for Harry's lesson with Willow, the desks Transfigured into large, colorful pillows. Willow blinked up at him innocently.

"What're all these pillows for?" Harry asked suspiciously. "And why are you looking at me with that expression that says, 'Don't blame me. I'm totally blameless'?" His eyes widened suddenly in realization and he frowned. "You think I'm going to, to screw up and break things!" he accused. "You've gotten rid of anything remotely fragile in case my magic goes all wonky!"

"So maybe I de-fragilized the room," Willow shrugged defensively, "but c'mon, Harry! Last week you broke my favorite quartz and even then, your shield spell, well, let's just say it was of the sucking. It hailed from suckadonia. It was probably the sheriff."

"I wouldn't say it sucked, exactly," Harry mumbled. "And you're making up words again. I'm fairly sure you cannot 'de-fragilize' a room."

"It collapsed when I shot sparks at it. Sparks!" Willow pointed out. "But don't feel too bad, Harry. At least you got it up, even if it was more of a wobbly barrier that didn't actually block anything. It took me forever to gain control over my magic," Willow added soothingly. "You wouldn't believe this Locator spell I tried…"

Harry collapsed onto the poof next to Willow's with a sigh. "All right, so I'm complete rubbish at this. What spell am I going to be failing miserably at today?"

Willow patted his hand comfortingly. "You aren't rubbish, Harry," she said, then ruined it by grinning widely. "Okay, so you are. I just wanted to say 'rubbish.' It's a funny word, isn't it? Rubbish."

"Ahem. If you're quite finished insulting your student…?"

"Right. You're going to float the rose," Willow said, excitement in her eyes. "It's a concentration thing. I figure you've been able to levitate small objects for a while now, so this should be pretty easy. The tricky part is post-levitation. You'll pluck each petal off individually."

Harry looked at her as if she'd gone quite mad. "No wonder you de-fragilized. Er, right. So how do I go about doing this?"

"Got your Defense kit?" Willow nodded in satisfaction when Harry pulled out the canister from his bag. "You need to make a protective circle. What are you going to use?"

"Salt," Harry said automatically, reciting from the first chapter of the _Grimmoire_. He pulled out a box and opened the lid. "Er, what kind of protective circle?"

Willow grinned. "Good question. Even if you are rubbish—" she giggled at the word, "—at least you know your basics. It's a four point star. Do you remember the design?"

Harry brow furrowed in concentration. He could picture the page of his _Grimmoire_ in his memory containing drawings of all the different types of protective circles. There was the basic circle—_obviously_, he thought to himself with a roll of his eyes—the four, five, and six-point stars, the hexagram, pentagram, and so on… he could picture the five and six point stars quite easily, but his memory balked at the idea of a four-point star. Four just didn't seem to be enough to even form a star…

"Oh!" Harry said suddenly, resisting the urge to smack himself on the forehead for his stupidity. "It's not actually a star. It's a square inside a circle. But Wiccans like to call everything a star."

"Hey!" Willow protested, smiling. "I take offense to that! _Anyway_, Mr. Wiccan-hater, draw your _star_."

With a small smile, Harry stood and moved to the center of the room, where there was more space and knelt down, pouring the salt from the box in a careful circle around him. He began his star with equal care, scraping his knees along the hard stone floor as he scrambled to keep the salt flowing in a smooth, uninterrupted line. When the last grain of salt met the edge of the circle, the entire design glowed white for a brief moment.

Willow Banished the rose to the center of Harry's star. "Okay, go ahead, Harry. Hopefully the protective circle will keep your magic from going all _wonky_," she told him with a grin.

Harry nodded and closed his eyes briefly, taking a deep breath. _Concentrate, Harry_, he told himself. _It's just a rose, you can do this. It's not like she's asking you to float an x- wing or anything. _Then, a bit hysterically, _There is no try! Only do! _

Harry took another calming breath, forcing his mind away from _Star Wars_ and onto the rose lying in front of his crossed legs. Chewing on his bottom lip nervously, he stared hard at it, willing it to rise. He'd become quite adept at this over the past few months, but was nevertheless strangely satisfied when the rose trembled and began to twitch, rising slowly into the air until it was a few feet above him.

"Okay Harry," he heard Willow whispering as if from far, far away. All his concentration was focused on the rose, its blood-red petals shimmering slightly in the faint beams of the setting sun coming in through the windows. "Now try to pluck the petals off, one by one."

Harry's frown deepened. He imagine his fingers reaching up to touch the rose, rubbing one velvet-soft petal between his fingers before gently _tugging_ just so. To his amazement and Willow's excitement, a single petal detached itself from the rose and floated gently down to land in Harry's hair. He tried again, and again he managed to dislodge a petal from the rose. On his third try, however, the petals remained stubbornly attached and the rose began to tremble and weave about above him. After a few more moments, the rose dropped unceremoniously to the floor, scattering the salt of his protective circle and breaking it in a bright flash of light. Petals flew in all directions, torn off by the sudden impact as the rose hit the stone flagging below.

"Well, that's one way to do it," Willow said with a grin. At Harry's disappointed look, Willow added quickly, "I'm joking Harry! That was great. You floated, you plucked… the American judge gives you three and half stars."

"I didn't finish," he pointed out. Despite his words, Harry couldn't help but feel pleased. He'd managed to do a bit of it, anyway, and at least nothing had exploded this lesson.

"You got tired," Willow said. "This sort of magic really takes it out of you. It takes a lot of concentration and energy to do stuff like this."

As Harry began gathering up his salt in large handfuls and pouring it back into his box, Willow gave him a strange, assessing look and cleared her throat pointedly.

"So," she said with an amused smile, "I hear you have big plans for Saturday."

"Saturday?" Harry asked blankly, brushing the last bit of salt into his box.

"Yes, Saturday. Otherwise known as Valentine's Day. The day of looooove. I hear you've got a hot date." Willow had that 'I'm innocent' look about her again. Harry shook his head.

"I wouldn't say it's a hot date, exactly," he mumbled, embarrassed.

"More of a lukewarm date?" Willow asked teasingly.

Harry got to his feet quickly, shoving his supplies back into his bag. "How do you know about it, anyway?" he asked self-consciously.

"_Everyone_ knows, Harry," Willow said with a wink. "I heard Draco Malfoy telling Pansy Parkinson about it the other day during class."

Harry raised his eyebrows at her. "You listen in on students gossiping?"

"Sometimes I get bored," she told him. "Anyway," she added, getting to her feet. "I just wanted to say good luck. I'm glad you're taking our advice. On being a normal kid, I mean."

"I'm trying, anyway," Harry muttered. With one last glance back at Willow, who was gathering up the rose bits and looking pleased that he hadn't smashed anything, Harry headed back to Gryffindor tower. Why, he wondered a bit despairingly, were the Slytherins gossiping about him, of all people? Surely they had better things to do with their time…

"…like drawing up their plans for world domination!" Ron said, lifting his head from his Charms essay to stare thoughtfully into the common room fire. "Or maybe how to get in with Voldemort's inner circle without having to bother with the ugly tattoo!"

"Oh Ron," Hermione said, but didn't scold him further. "Anyway, Harry," she added, not looking up from her essay, "I think it's best to just ignore the gossip. At least Rita Skeeter hasn't got wind of it yet. And Susan is brilliant."

"She's got to be better than Cho though, doesn't she?" Ron commented. "I've never seen her cry, anyway, so that's an improvement."

"I don't even know if I like her," Harry protested. "I mean, I've only ever seen her in D.A. meetings, and it's not as if we're bound to have meaningful conversations between hexing each other."

"I'm just glad you'll have someone to go round with is all," Hermione said distractedly, thumbing through her Charms text.

Harry raised his eyebrows suggestively at Ron, who made a face. "We're _revising_," he told Harry, his voice laced with disgust. "I haven't gotten very far on my unknown for Snape yet, and Hermione insists that—"

"Honestly, Ron," Hermione interrupted, "you can't expect to pass Potions without trying, can you? You know Snape will chuck you out faster than you can say 'helleobore' if you haven't got that unknown figured out by the end of Spring holidays."

"But Hermione," Ron protested with a smile that Harry thought was meant to be charming, but came off as a bit desperate, "I'd never say 'helleobore.' And it's _Valentine's_ day."

Hermione snorted. "Ridiculous holiday manufactured by the candy and greeting card industries to make more money. Wizards don't even believe in saints."

"What's a saint?" Ron asked blankly.

"My point exactly," Hermione said triumphantly. "Now if you'll excuse me, I've got work to do. Unlike _some_ people, I actually care about passing my classes!"

Hermione moved to a more secluded spot in the common room, levitating her books and parchments in front of her. Harry watched Ron watch her with sympathy.

"Still no luck?" he asked.

"I'm not serious enough now," Ron complained. "Well, so what if I enjoy the occasional joke? And yes, sometimes I am known to crack a smile. But that doesn't mean I'm not serious about her."

"She's under a lot of pressure," Harry offered. "She hasn't got all the elements of her unknown figured out yet, either, and she's taking more classes than us."

"If this is what she's like now, I can't wait for next year," Ron muttered sarcastically. At Harry's blank look, he clarified, "N.E.W.T.s. If that doesn't drive her mad—well, more so than she already is, I mean—I don't reckon anything can."

Harry had never thought of Susan as much of a chatterbox—hadn't really considered her much at all, to be honest—but she proved him wrong on the long walk into the village. He found himself grinning a little at her near-incessant chatter, made at ease by the fact that it meant he barely had to talk at all. Susan, he was surprised to note, was intensely interested in politics and not at all afraid to give her opinions on everything from Magical Creature rights to the upcoming ministry elections. She and Hermione would get on famously, he thought to himself with a grin.

"So who do you favor for minister, then?" Susan asked, slightly breathless from the long walk in the cold air. Their breath plumed out in white clouds from their mouths, and Susan hitched her black and yellow scarf more tightly about her neck.

"Er, sorry. I don't even know who's running," he admitted sheepishly. "I'm really not up on current events."

"Well, Fudge is up again, of course, but he's trailing way behind in the polls, only pulling about twenty-five percent right now. There's a lot of talk around Amos Diggory. You know—Cedric's dad."

Harry nodded solemnly. He had forgotten that Cedric had been in Susan's house. He wondered if she'd known him well—he'd been quite a bit older than her.

"Er, shall we go into some of the shops then?" Harry asked. Susan was looking wistful and sad, and the last thing Harry wanted was another girl crying over Cedric to him. Besides which, the cold was really starting to get to him, even through his thick woolen cloak.

They explored the shops along the main road. Harry was delighted to find several new Weasley Wizard Wheezes products at Zonko's and bought a nice selection, including a new set of Extendable Ears and even a few Slime Slingers ("Coat your friends in goo! Fun for them and you!"). Susan bought a huge box of chocolates at Honeydukes, flushing a little in embarrassment at the sheer quantity and mumbling something about addiction. They ended up in the Three Broomsticks in late afternoon, along with most of the rest of the students.

Susan and Harry managed to snag an empty table near the fireplace. Harry pushed his way through the crowd to the bar while Susan stayed behind to protect their table. The pub was so crowded that Harry had difficulty making himself heard over the din, and returning to the table bearing two full glasses of Butterbeer was no mean feat. He managed to thread his way through the throngs of students without spilling too much down his front, only to find that while he was gone, Susan had been joined by several of her friends from Hufflepuff. He slid into the empty seat next to Susan, nodding politely to Ernie MacMillan, Justin Finch-Fletchly, and Hannah Abbott, who all gave him equally polite smiles in return. Harry passed Susan a foaming glass of Butterbeer with a questioning look.

"You don't mind, do you Harry?" Justin asked earnestly. He gestured broadly at the over-crowded room. "Only, there wasn't anywhere else."

Harry shrugged. Susan gave him a bright smile and turned to Ernie, looking suddenly determined. "Anyway, I simply can't agree with you. Diggory may be a Department head, but he's far too emotionally involved after what happened to Cedric."

"What do you think, Harry?" Ernie asked a little pompously. All four Hufflepuffs turned their eyes on him.

"Er, what are we talking about?" Harry asked, feeling suddenly nervous. He wasn't used to people asking his opinion on things.

"The candidates for Minister," Hannah explained. "Ernie favors Amos Diggory—you'll know who he is, of course. But Susan's leaning toward Amelia Bones—" "—and not just because she's my aunt!" Susan interrupted. "She's head of Magical Law Enforcement, and she sits on the Wizengamot."

"Well," said Harry cautiously, "I've met both of them. I can't say I know much about their, er, qualifications, but Diggory seemed kind of… off to me."

"What do you mean, _off_?" Ernie asked, irritated.

Harry flushed. "He accused me of sending up the Dark Mark. A-and he was really pretty mean to Winky," he added quickly. His evidence was starting to sound a bit self-centered and flimsy.

"Er, sorry?" Justin said with a bit of a grin. "_Winky_?"

"A house-elf. This was at the World Cup fourth year, mind you, and Diggory and some other Ministry officials were trying to figure out who'd conjured the Dark Mark. He was really harsh with her, made her cry and everything, until she was so disgraced that her master had to give her clothes. She was devastated."

"Humph," said Ernie. "Well I don't see what that's got to do with his potential as minister. She's just an elf—it's not as though she didn't deserve what she got."

Harry frowned. "Siri-er, a friend of mine once told me that the best way to take a man's measure was to see the way he treated his inferiors. Besides, elves are powerfully magical creatures. Dobby's saved my life more than once, and probably saved all of you from expulsion last year when he warned us about Umbridge finding out about the D.A. meeting."

Ernie flushed, but didn't back down. "You sound like Hermione. Going to ask us to join spew next?"

Harry flushed. "It's S-P-E-W," he mumbled.

"Anyway, Harry's right," Hannah said. She sent Harry a fleeting smile and leaned conspiratorially across the table to whisper loudly, "Ernie just likes to argue, even when he knows he's already lost."

Ernie flushed and the tension was broken. "Tell us about this house-elf that saved your life, Harry," Susan said eagerly, taking a gulp of her Butterbeer. "Maybe we'll join spew after all," she added with a laugh.

The walk back to the castle passed far more quickly than Harry would have liked. Most of the students started back en masse around five o'clock to return in time for dinner. Ernie, Justin, and Hannah walked a few paces ahead, discussing the latest prefect meeting, leaving Harry and Susan in relative privacy.

Harry jumped in surprise when he felt Susan's mitten-covered hand grasp his as they walked side by side. She grinned cheekily at him.

"This isn't so bad, is it?" she asked. She laughed at the confused expression on his face. Harry could feel his cheeks growing red, and hoped he could chalk it up to the cold. "I could tell when I asked you out," Susan continued, "that you were totally flabbergasted. We barely know each other, right? But, you know, I admire you Harry. And not because you're famous or any of that, but because you stand up for things. For your beliefs and your friends… you'd have made a good Hufflepuff."

Harry flushed. "Thanks," he said. Susan squeezed his hand gently, and Harry could feel himself flushing even more. "But I'm really not… I mean, I'm not all that great," Harry said earnestly. He didn't want Susan getting the wrong idea about him. "I'm moody, and loads of people think I'm barking mad, and I'd really much rather be playing Quidditch than making embarrassing speeches about how we should be above petty rivalries."

Susan just laughed. "Oh, Harry. _Anyone_ would much rather be playing Quidditch." She wrinkled her nose suddenly, her eyes focused on a group of students several feet ahead of them. "Ugh, look," she pointed to the group with her free hand, "it's the Slytherins."

Harry craned his neck to get a better view. It was difficult to tell who belonged to which house when everyone wore their heavy winter cloaks, but in the back of the group, Harry could just make out a flash of white-blond hair poking from beneath a black ski cap—Draco Malfoy. And next to him, her freckled face tilted up toward Malfoy with a soft smile…

"What does Ginny see in that git, anyway?" Susan asked, echoing Harry's thoughts. "Blech. I can't watch. C'mon, Harry. Let's hurry past before they see us."

Susan ran ahead, pulling Harry along behind her. She turned back to look at him, her long braid whipping around, and made a face; Harry found himself laughing as they ran passed the group of Slytherins. As he tripped through the snow behind Susan, her hand still clasping his, he saw Ginny turn to watch them out of the corner of his eye. She stopped talking to Malfoy to stare, and for a moment, her expression was so lost and sad that Harry had an inexplicable urge to turn back and comfort her.

He tripped in the snow and Susan let go of him, laughing, to scoop up a handful of the stuff and lob it at his head. Harry dodged, rolling in the snow and almost knocking over a timid-looking third year, who squealed and leapt out of the way just in time. Harry paused just long enough to pack together a snowball before jumping to his feet and launching it at Susan, succeeding in giving her a face-full of snow.

Harry hurried to catch up with Susan who, from the looks of things, was preparing for an all-out snowball war as she scooped up the snow around her. Slightly out of breath, he grinned down at her, eyeing the snowball in her hand warily.

"I give up," he panted. "Truce?"

Susan dropped the snow and took his hand again, smiling. Harry couldn't help but notice that she had a very nice smile. "Alright then," she said, brushing snow from her hair. "But next time, you're going down."

When Harry looked back at the group of Slytherins, he thought he must have imagined the strange expression on Ginny's face. She had taken Malfoy's arm and was grinning up at him. Harry was just glad Ron wasn't there; the combination of snow and Malfoy touching his sister might prove too much temptation for Ron to handle.

"C'mon, Harry!" Susan said, letting go of his hand and skipping a few steps ahead. She threw a grin over her shoulder. "I'll race you back!"

Harry spent the next few weeks in a sort of contented daze. Dating Susan was nothing like being with Cho had been. There were no strange, sudden crying jags, no unforeseeable outbursts of unreasonable anger… and dating they were. Susan and her Hufflepuff friends had started sitting at the Gryffindor table at mealtimes, and sometimes Harry, Hermione, and Ron would sit with them at the Hufflepuff table. On the first day of classes after their date in Hogsmeade, Harry was surprised to find Susan waiting outside the Defense classroom to walk to Herbology with him. Harry found he quite liked spending time with Susan, who, unlike most of the people he spent time with, was calm and collected and content not to worry about what terrible things could possibly happen next.

Harry was forced to keep secrets from her—he refused to burden Susan with things like the prophecy and Ginny's betrayal—but this, too, Susan did not seem to mind. She didn't ask him for intimate details of his life or what he got up to with Ron and Hermione, and for this, Harry was grateful. He wouldn't have liked lying to her outright as well as by omission, and Susan seemed to sense this and didn't put him in that position.

Harry also quickly discovered that Susan was very good at potions, nearly as good as Hermione, in fact. As the end of winter term loomed near, Harry began to worry about the unfinished state of his unknown potion. Hermione had finished hers ages ago and was constantly nagging Ron and Harry about their own projects. She flatly refused to help them, however, saying that if they hadn't left it so long they'd have finished by now, and it would be their own faults if they got booted from potions. Harry was beginning to panic. He spent every free moment he had in the dungeons, performing test after test on his unknown, of which he was quickly running out. Finally, after nearly a week of listening to Harry predict his own death and possible expulsion at the hands of Professor Snape should he fail to finish the unknown, Susan dragged him down to the potions laboratory and set him firmly to work.

"Honestly Harry," she told him as they prepared their ingredients for the tests they needed to perform, "Snape's not so awful as all that. Surely he'd never assign an unknown that was impossible."

Harry snorted and continued to cut up his dandelion roots into small, even pieces. "You've got no idea. The man loathes me. His main goal in life seems to be to get me expelled."

"He's a professor, Harry. I'm sure he's got better things to do than think up ways to get students into trouble," Susan said, rolling her eyes. She added her carefully measured ingredients into a small cauldron, prodding its base with her wand to ignite a fire beneath it. After a few more minutes she added a drop of Harry's unknown potion to the mixture, biting her lip in concentration as she watched the reaction. The potion began to hiss and steam, spewing clouds of billowing green smoke into their faces. Harry coughed and waved at the air in front of him; when the smoke cleared, he saw Susan staring from her cauldron to the parchment spread in front of her with a frown.

Harry groaned. "What's wrong?" he asked. "It didn't work, did it?"

Susan tugged the end of her braid in irritation and sighed. "I reckon you might be right about Snape, Harry," she said in frustration. "This just doesn't make any sense! Your unknown tested positive for sneezewort, but according to your notes, it's also tested positive for belladonna."

"Er, why is that a problem?" asked Harry.

"Because you can't ever mix the two—they simply counteract each other!" Susan exclaimed. She shook her head, giving Harry a shrewd, questioning look. "Snape's really got it in for you, hasn't he? No, I don't want to know. Let's just… we'll try a few more before curfew, alright? Something's bound to come up soon."

Harry shrugged resignedly. "At this rate, we'll have tried every test known to wizard kind by the end of Easter hols. At least I'll know how to do this if it ever comes up."

They worked for another hour, diligently performing two more tests, both of which failed to turn up any significant results. Disappointed and frustrated, Harry and Susan cleaned up their ingredients and cauldrons before leaving the dungeon classroom. Susan took his hand as they headed up the dim stairs that led to the front entrance. Harry grinned in the flickering torchlight, feeling much better than now that they were out of his least favorite classroom.

"I'll just walk with you to Gryffindor Tower, then," Susan whispered, tugging him along. "It wouldn't do for you to get lost now, would it?"

"Er, alright," Harry said. They reached the entry hall and began the long climb to Gryffindor. Harry was just helping Susan past the trick step on the fourth floor staircase when a groaning, wrenching sound ripped through the relative silence of the castle.

"The staircase!" Susan hissed, grasping the railing hard to keep from falling. "It's changing."

"Rotten luck," Harry muttered. They stepped off the staircase when it finally came to a rest, only to find themselves in a corridor neither one of them had ever seen before. They had gone only a few steps when the sound of echoing voices reached them from further down the corridor. Reacting without thinking, Harry pulled Susan behind a large statue of what seemed to Harry to be a half man, half turtle, pressing his finger to his lip to indicate Susan should be quiet. Susan gave him a long, questioning look, but turned when the voices drew closer.

Harry peered through the crack between the statue's right arm and shell-covered torso. There, standing in front of a large, brightly colored tapestry of Maurice the Maligned, were Dumbledore and Snape. Dumbledore looked serious and thoughtful, seemingly considering something that Snape had just told him. Snape, meanwhile, looked as frustrated as Harry often felt lately while in Dumbledore's presence. His black eyes glittered in the dim light of the corridor, and for a moment Harry wondered wildly if Snape could see them through the statue.

Harry was distracted by the scene being played out behind Dumbledore and Snape on the tapestry: over and over again he watched poor Maurice Malbon, England's greatest medieval pastry chef, take what would be his last bite on earth from a poisoned cup cake. Harry thought it must be an awful sort of existence, being a tapestry, forced to replay the same scene over and over again. Susan elbowed him in the ribs and jerked her head in Snape's direction, clearly wondering what she and Harry were supposed to be doing here, hiding behind statues and listening in on private conversations.

Harry blinked and focused on the pair in front of him. "Perhaps you are right, Severus," Dumbledore was saying, rubbing the bridge of his nose tiredly. "I had thought that we could protect them still, even after Sirius's…warning. But alas, I fear the time has come… yes, Harry's vision can only be construed as further proof."

"I'm glad you are seeing reason, Headmaster," Snape murmured. "It is not that I wish to show you any disrespect, sir, it is just that the information we have, from several different sources, as you know, is nearly irrefutable at this time. You know that I, above most others, refuse to put much stock into so-called visions. And we both know that that particular method of obtaining them doesn't normally yield especially trustworthy results. However, combined with Black's warning last term," here Snape paused to sneer, clearly disgusted at having to discuss Sirius, "that all is not as it appears, I believe it is imperative to begin preparations as soon as possible."

Dumbledore sighed wearily. "Right you are, Severus. I suppose a staff meeting is in order? Yes, yes. Tomorrow morning then, before breakfast. Notify the rest, would you?"

"Of course, Headmaster," Snape said, inclining his dark head slightly. He hesitated, looking as if he wanted to say something more but wasn't quite sure he should. Finally, his shoulders tensing up in anticipation and his voice lowering so much that Harry had to strain to hear it, Snape spoke again. "And the girl, Headmaster? What of Ginny Weasley?"

Dumbledore gave Snape a hard, penetrating look over the rims of his half-moon spectacles. "I'm afraid, Severus, that Miss Weasley must needs carve her own path in all of this. There is nothing more we can do for her that isn't already being done."

Harry and Susan waited several minutes after Dumbledore and Snape had gone to be sure that they wouldn't come back before sneaking out from behind the statue.

"What do you reckon all that was about?" Susan asked, looking shocked and shaken. Then she shrugged and gave him a half smile. "Well, it's none of our business, anyway," she said finally, "what professors choose to discuss in corridors where anyone could hear them. You'd think they wanted to be caught!"

Harry shrugged. He didn't know what to say. He was sure the conversation had made a lot more sense to him than it had to Susan, but the last thing he wanted to do was explain everything to her now. Instead, he had an overwhelming urge to race up to Gryffindor and spill the story to Ron and Hermione—he was sure if anyone could figure it out, it would be them. But then Susan did something that made him forget all about Ron and Hermione and the strange conversation they'd overheard.

She kissed him.

It wasn't a particularly exciting kiss. In fact, it was rather awkward, with noses bumping while they sorted out the angles involved. But her lips were warm and soft, and did not taste of tears. Her fingers twined into the hair at the nape of his neck and Harry's hands seemed to find her waist of their own accord, pulling her flush against him.

Later, he couldn't say how long they stood there in the dusty, unfamiliar corridor between the funny tapestry and the even funnier statue. When they finally broke apart, Susan's cheeks were flushed red and she couldn't quite meet his eyes, although her fingers remained tangled in his hair.

"I've got to be getting back," she said a little breathlessly. She bit her lip nervously, and Harry thought she didn't look a bit as if she wanted to go.

"Alright then," he said, embarrassed that his voice sounded a bit breathless too. "I'll see you at breakfast tomorrow?"

"Definitely. I mean, right." Susan flushed again. Then, with a last quick kiss, she pulled away and was down the corridor in a flash, robes whipping around the corner and out of sight.

Harry hadn't thought his relationship with Susan could get much better than it already was, but the following week proved him wrong. Every free moment was spent with her; they used even the weakest excuses to get away from their friends and sneak off for some privacy. Harry even thought he was starting to understand why Ron went back to Hermione time and again, even though she still flatly refused to be his girlfriend. For the first time since coming to Hogwarts, Harry felt as if he were a normal kid.

There was gossip, of course, there always was at Hogwarts, but Harry was content to ignore it. Instead he concentrated on finishing his potions project, kissing Susan, running the D.A., kissing Susan, and trying to finish up all the extra homework his professors had assigned in anticipation of the upcoming holiday.

The last day of winter term seemed to last forever. He sat through a long, thoroughly boring lecture in Transfiguration on partial human transformations. Charms was only slightly better; Professor Flitwick tested them on Animating Charms, which they'd been studying all term, by having them enchant various pieces of furniture to sing and dance. Harry thought he'd done well enough, despite his eagerness for the holiday to begin.

After dinner Harry met Susan in the potions lab. They had only just begun a new series of tests when Harry tossed away his ladle and leaned across the table to kiss her. But Susan leaned away from him with a frown, setting her own ladle down next to her bubbling cauldron.

"Honestly, Harry," she chided. "I'm trying to help you, here. If you can't be serious, I don't know why we're bothering."

"Let's not, then," said Harry, grinning. He stepped around the table and grabbed her hand. "I'm sick of working on this unknown. We both agree Snape's given me some impossible potion—"

"I'm sure it's not _impossible_," Susan protested.

"—impossible potion," Harry continued, "and at this point I'm beyond caring. If I have to I'll sit the N.E.W.T. without Snape's class. You and Hermione are both brilliant at Potions—you'll help me study."

Susan sighed. "All right. It's your mark on the line, so I guess it's up to you. There's something we need to talk about, anyway," she said, biting her lip nervously.

Harry frowned and sat down. "This sounds serious," he said.

"It is. Well, okay, it's not life-or-death, the world is about to end, women and children first serious, but, well…" She took a deep breath, looking for all the world as if she were afraid to say whatever it was she needed to. "It's just… we've been seeing each other for nearly a month now, right? And I really like you Harry, I do, but I have to ask… Harry, are you, you know, _serious_ about me?"

Harry just stared at her. What did she mean, was he serious about her? They'd only just started seeing each other. Did she want something more from him? Was he doing it wrong, the whole dating thing? He'd never had a real girlfriend before, and until that moment, Harry hadn't stopped to consider what that would mean, exactly. Ron and Hermione were the only people he knew who dated, and they weren't even, not really. Harry wondered suddenly if there was something more to this dating thing that he wasn't aware of. Maybe he was supposed to be taking her out to Hogsmeade for romantic dinners or something, although he hadn't a clue how they'd do that without breaking about ten school rules. Or maybe she was expecting gifts—maybe he'd missed her birthday! Harry frowned again and tried to think up something to say that wouldn't make him look like an idiot for not knowing how these things worked. Finally, he just said the first thing that popped into his head.

"Have I done something wrong, then?" he asked. "I don't… I'm not exactly good at this sort of thing," he admitted.

Susan laughed. "You've been great, Harry. Not done anything wrong except possibly incur the wrath of Professor Snape to such an extent that we've spent a good portion of our time together working on his project."

"Oh," said Harry, relieved. "Well, I guess I don't understand what you're asking, then."

Susan's eyes dropped to the floor. "Um. I just mean… you're not just messing about with me, are you?" she blurted. "Not that I think you're the sort of person who would, but there were all these rumors last year about Cho Chang, a-and everyone thought this year you and Ginny Weasley… and I just thought that if I'm not the one you really want to be with, maybe we should, you know, stop now before I get all attached and—"

"I don't want to be with anyone else," Harry said firmly. _Not now, at any rate_, he thought to himself with a twinge of guilt. "So… yeah. I guess I am. Serious, I mean. About you."

Susan grinned and gave a deep sigh of relief. Harry smiled back, standing up to move closer to her again. This time she didn't back away.

"Now about that kiss…"

By the time Harry and Susan left the Potions lab that night, Harry was shocked to discover it was already well past curfew. Sneaking back to Gryffindor Tower, Harry found himself grinning stupidly and going back over the past few hours in his head, imagining them again and again. Ron would tease him mercilessly for being out so late, but it had been worth it. Definitely worth it.

Harry was so lost in thought he almost didn't notice that the portrait hole was already open when he arrived at the common room. It started to swing shut but Harry caught it just in time to slip through, inducing an irritated huff from the Fat Lady. He climbed through the hole only to find himself face to face with the one person he'd been avoiding all term—Ginny. The common room was empty except for the two of them. Ginny stood in the center, her robes hanging from her fingers. Her clothes beneath were old, worn Muggle things; Ginny looked as if she'd been sneaking around in the tunnels again, her clothes stained with mud. For a moment they just stared at each other in silence, the air between them palpable with anger.

"What're you doing here?" they said at the same time.

Ginny answered first. "It's my common room too, Harry," she said snidely. "I'm still allowed to be here."

"What were you doing sneaking in so late?" Harry asked, eyes narrowing.

Ginny laughed. "I could ask you the same thing."

Harry stared at her for another moment, his head whirling with too many thoughts. He was still so angry with her, and so confused by her as well. For all the world it seemed as though she and Draco Malfoy were, for lack of a better word, dating. And despite the admittedly unreliable results of the _Vrai Vue_ potion, Harry didn't think Malfoy had put her under a love spell. She was with him by choice, and Harry simply couldn't understand how she could betray him like that. Betray them all. How she could be so close to someone who'd done them so much harm, whose family was right in there with Voldemort? Not unless she was with Him too…

"Look Ginny," Harry said finally, "can't we just… talk? We used to be friends, or at least good acquaintances. Last year you practically demanded to come to the Department of Mysteries with us. And now… you're a different person. I don't even know you anymore."

"There's nothing to talk about, Harry," Ginny said, and her voice sounded as tired as Harry felt. "We've been through this. When are you going to get it? We've never been friends. We never will be friends. You lost that chance a long time ago."

"You're under a spell!" Harry blurted out. He couldn't take it anymore—the lying, the deception, everything they'd done just to brew the _Vrai Vue_. He didn't care any longer what she thought of them, only that she know Malfoy had done something to her, twisted her in some way. And maybe if she knew… maybe she'd come back to them and be the old Ginny again.

Ginny frowned at him. "What are you talking about?"

"We—Hermione and Ron and I—we did this potion to see… well we thought maybe Malfoy had put a Love Spell on you. Because you were acting so… not yourself. And we found out, well we don't know what it is, but there's definitely something affecting you!"

Ginny's cheeks flushed and her hands fisted at her side. "You did _what_?" she said, her voice trembling with anger. "You did some sort of potion… my knife! You're the ones that stole my knife."

"We didn't mean to! Oh, well, yes we did, but we thought you were in danger, Ginny. And you wouldn't talk to any of us. What else were we supposed to do?"

"You could've trusted me," Ginny said, her eyes suspiciously bright.

"You didn't give us that option, did you? And we were right, Ginny! You are under a spell. Something so complex and strange that Hermione can't make any sense out of the Arithmantical readings."

"I'm not, Harry," she denied vehemently, her trembling hands clutching her worn robes between them like a shield, "but if that's what you want to believe…"

"What I want?" Harry sputtered. "Why would I ever want that?" D'you think I _like_ seeing you with Malfoy? That I enjoy watching you cozy up to him in the Great Hall? 'Oh Draco,'" he mocked, "'you're so clever and pointy. Someday you'll be a real ferret.'"

"Shut up!" Ginny yelled, her mouth working in inexpressible rage. "Just… shut up! What would you rather—that I were with you? _Spare_ me. You don't want me, Harry—you never have! You just can't stand it that _I_ don't want _you_ any longer. Did you honestly think I'd just wait around for perfect, brave, noble Harry Potter to come to his senses because of, oh, I don't know, some childishly romantic sentiment that we're somehow meant to be?"

She snorted derisively, her eyes raking over him in distaste. "Well you know what, Harry? It's true, what everyone's always said about my pathetic school girl crush on you—I'm not worthy. I'm _beneath_ you, Harry. I'm not good or honest or anything else like that. I'm a liar, Harry. I've done things that would curdle your blood. So, you hate seeing me with Draco? Funny, Harry, because that's exactly where I belong."

"It's not," Harry said softly, but Ginny had already turned away.

* * *

A/N: Coming up in chapter 16: tragedy strikes Hogwarts and everyone is effected... even Draco Malfoy.


	16. Parting Shots

A/N: Thanks as always to my lovely beta, Sapphirescarlet, and to Raiining, whose reviews made me deliriously happy and encouraged me to keep going. Thanks loves, and enjoy :) 

Chapter 16: Parting Shots

_"If you ever decide to go, I want a warning. You know, big flashing red lights, and-and- and one of those clocks that counts down like a bomb in a movie? And there's a whole bunch of, of colored wires, and I'm not sure which is the right one to cut, but I guess the green one, and then at the last second "No! The red one!" and then click, it stops with three-tenths of a second left, but then you don't leave. Like that, okay?" -Anya, 'Triangle'_

Harry woke up early that Saturday-the first official day of Easter holiday. Although the pink-tinged sky outside the dormitory window showed him it was early, a quick glance at his watch told him it wasn't yet half past six. Groaning inwardly, Harry stared at his canopy in frustration. His eyes were gritty with sleep and his tongue felt stale and fuzzy in his mouth. After the fight with Ginny the night before, his sleep had been restless, interspersed by terrible dreams that he could barely remember, although just the thought of them sent an icy shiver down his spine. Despite the groggy, heavy feeling of exhaustion already pressing its weight upon him, Harry knew he'd never be able to get back to sleep. 

He got out of bed and dressed silently. As long as he was up early, he might as well look through some of his more advanced Defense texts for ideas for the next D.A. meeting. Rummaging through his trunk for the books, Harry pushed aside his Invisibility Cloak and Divination texts-why he still had those, Merlin only knew-when his eyes lit upon a slim, leather-bound book. It was Sirius's diary, and until that moment, he'd completely forgotten it even existed. Swallowing hard, Harry trailed his fingers along the smooth, worn surface of the binding before pocketing it. 

Once down in the common room, Harry took out the diary again and, after a brief moment of hesitation, his wand. He opened the diary and stared at the message on the first page, running the tip of his index finger over the words with a small smile. Ron had said Sirius was being paranoid, thinking that someone might read his diary. Harry knew he was just being Sirius, and the idea comforted him. 

Lupin had said the diary had a password, but that he should be able to figure it out. Harry thought for a moment, then picked up his wand and placed the tip on the first blank page. 

"I solemnly swear I am up to no good," Harry said. 

To his surprise and delight, words began scrawling themselves across the page. When Harry read them, however, he was disappointed, although he hardly thought he'd get it on the first try. 

_Honestly, _ it read, _how dim do you think I am? _

Right. Of course Sirius wouldn't use that as his password-his three best friends would've guessed it immediately. 

"Er, alright. Let's try... reveal your secrets?" 

_I don't take orders, you git_, the diary told him. 

The whole thing reminded him of his third year, when Snape had got a hold of the Marauder's map. He'd been livid, practically foaming at the mouth at the insults the map had thrown at him... That gave Harry an idea. 

"Snape is a slimy git?" he asked it hopefully. 

_Close, but not quite. You almost had me there. _

"Er, alright. Snivellus is a... a greasy wanker who needs to learn the basic rules of hygiene?" 

_Very amusing... but not quite enough. _

And then Harry understood. The password wasn't an actual word at all-he needed to amuse the diary until it decided he was worthy of reading it! With that, Harry started telling it every joke he could think of. Finally, just when Harry was beginning to get frustrated... 

"Two muffins are sitting in an oven. One turns to the other and says, 'Boy, it's really getting hot in here.' The other yells, 'Oh no! A talking muffin!'" 

The pages immediately began filling with writing. Harry shook his head in amusement. Sirius had been a strange, strange man. Harry glanced at his watch-only seven o'clock. With a small smile, he sat back and began to read: 

_1 January, 1978 _

Have only just received this diary from Moony and have to say, was slightly surprised that he got me anything at all. Suppose is too much to hope for, that he may have forgiven me, but New Year's resolution no. 1 is: Must not Give Up Hope. 

New Year's Resolution no. 2 (in direct correlation to no. 1): lose long- detested virginity at earliest chance. Have been walking around as pathetic virgin for nearly 17 years. Plus, James lost his last summer and has been insufferable git about it ever since. Told him Sylvia Slink hardly counts as she barely even qualifies as girl (being both Slytherin and ridiculously whoreish) but James just smirks as if he  knows something the rest of us don't. Smarmy bastard. I could've easily lost virginity several times over if was willing to sleep with Slytherins who've already done half the school. A boy has to have standards.

Must admit, have been saving myself for Someone Special. Still, wish aforementioned Someone would come round, as virginity is both tiresome and annoying. 

"Harry?" Hermione's voice interrupted him. He shut the diary quickly and shoved it into his pocket. "What are you doing up so early? It's Saturday, you know," she teased. 

Harry shrugged. For some reason he didn't feel right telling Hermione about the diary. It was too private, somehow, too personal to Sirius to tell his friends about. 

"I suppose Ron's still asleep?" Hermione asked. "Oh well, I wanted to talk to you about something anyway. Let's go get some breakfast and take a walk around the lake." 

Harry followed Hermione to the Great Hall, too lost in his own thoughts to notice the perplexed glances Hermione kept throwing his way. He'd never really thought too much about Sirius and Lupin being friends. After his third year, he'd just sort of taken it for granted but now he realized that, after the prank Sirius had played on Snape when they'd all been at school together, Lupin must've felt... betrayed. Hurt. Sirius had nearly turned Lupin into a murderer. Harry wondered how and when Lupin had finally forgiven Sirius-it wasn't the sort of thing that happened overnight. He supposed he'd find out if he kept on with the diary. 

Once in the Great Hall, Harry discovered that he was much hungrier than he'd realized. He took his time eating, his eyes scanning the steady stream of incoming students for Susan. It was the first day of Easter hols, and he'd much rather spend it with her than taking a walk with Hermione, who was sure to want to discuss Ginny, Voldemort, the upcoming attack on the school, or some other dire and important thing. 

Hermione watched him impatiently as he took his time eating breakfast. Just as he was taking his last bite of egg, Susan walked into the hall with a group of Hufflepuffs, quickly followed by Ron. Harry waved at her but she didn't notice; Hannah Abbott was telling some sort of story. The Hufflepuffs sat at their own table, while Ron slumped into the chair next to Hermione's, looking irritable and glum. Hermione huffed and gave Harry a significant look that clearly said she was miffed at him for dawdling. 

Ron didn't notice anything out of the ordinary. "Honestly," he grumbled, beginning to pile his plate high with eggs and bacon, "someone needs to do something about Neville. He snores like a bloody hippogriff. Man can't have a proper sleep with him around!" 

"I've never noticed anything," Harry said mildly, staring at the back of Susan's head and wishing she'd turn around. Through the gaps between students, the Slytherin table was clearly visible. Ginny sat in what had become her usual place next to Malfoy, grinning as she talked, gesturing excitedly with her hands. Malfoy's head was cocked toward her as he listened, a small smile playing about his lips. Harry wrenched his eyes away and stared firmly at the table instead. He couldn't even look at her anymore without feeling that confusing rush of conflicting emotions-anger tinged with sadness and regret. He preferred the simplicity of Susan, who never made him feel anything but cheerful and, well, like he wouldn't mind convincing her to skive off to the nearest broom cupboard to snog. She was sweet and nice and calm-everything Ginny was not-and that was just the way he liked it. 

"Yeah well," said Ron, talking through a mouthful of eggs, "I can hear him all too well. Wonder if Pomfrey's got anything to cure snoring?" 

"It's not a disease, Ron," Hermione said crossly. "And anyway, I'm sure Madam Pomfrey's got much more important things to do than find a cure for snoring, for example-" 

But they never got to hear what else the Hogwarts' mediwitch might be working on because at that moment, the post arrived, filling the hall with the sounds of a hundred flapping birds. When Harry looked up, however, the sight that greeted him left him gaping in confusion. There, among the usual flock of owls delivering the mail, were several ugly black birds, each one the size of a Quaffle-crows. The hall fell silent at the caw of the crows, and several students gasped in fear. One first year Hufflepuff screamed, sending a chill up Harry's spine. 

"What is it?" Harry whispered to Hermione, who for once looked just as flabbergasted as he felt. 

She shrugged. "Dunno. I haven't read anything..." she trailed off and Harry immediately knew why. While the owls had all come and gone in the space of a few minutes, the crows were circling the hall as if searching among the crowd. 

"Ron, do you--?" Harry began, but cut himself off at the look on Ron's face. He was pale and trembling, his lips a thin line as he stared up at the birds. 

"Please not me, please not me," he whispered. Next to him, Harry saw Neville looking equally pale, as if he were about to be ill. 

One of the crows, seemingly having made up its mind, swooped down toward the Hufflepuff table and dropped a parchment roll in front of Susan. As if spurred by their fellow's decisiveness, the rest of the flock followed, dropping scrolls in front of various students. Harry watched Susan's trembling hand reach for her letter but was distracted by a low moan from Ron. 

"Oh no, Merlin no," he said, staring at the scroll in front of him. It was tied with a neat black ribbon in a pretty bow; the sight of it filled Harry with an inexplicable dread nevertheless. 

"You do it, Harry," Ron said with pleading eyes, pushing the letter across the table toward him. "I can't... please, you do it." 

Harry picked up the letter and opened it carefully, wondering what could be so terrible about simple ink and parchment, even as a cold shiver of dread slid down his spine. He spread the letter out and began to read. 

"Dear Mr. Weasley-  
It is my unfortunate duty to inform you that your brother, Percy Weasley, Assistant to the Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic, died last night..." 

Harry stopped reading and dropped the letter from his fingers as if it had burned him. Hermione let out a strangled cry and wrapped her arms around Ron in a tight hug. Ron stared into space for a moment, his face completely blank and still, before it seemed to crumple in on itself. Ron clenched his eyes shut and pressed his face into Hermione's neck. Through the gap between Ron and Neville, Harry saw Susan jump from her seat and run out of the Great Hall, quickly followed by Hannah Abbott and Justin Finch- Fletchly. 

Harry wanted to run after her too, but just then his vision was blocked by Ginny, who was standing unnoticed behind Ron and Hermione, a letter crushed in her fist. Long, salty streaks ran down her cheeks and each freckle on her face stood out starkly against the ghastly white of her skin. Her eyes flicked from Harry to Ron and back again. Harry could only manage a blank stare, torn between wanting to yell at her and wanting to comfort her. In the end the decision was taken out of his hands by Professor McGonagall, who appeared at the Gryffindor table looking tired and anxious, her face so drawn that Harry was once again reminded of how old she was getting. 

"Come with me, children," she said to Ginny and Ron. "You parents are waiting to see you in the Headmaster's office." Harry and Hermione watched them go, Hermione clutching Harry's hand in a painfully tight grip. Several other students filed out of the hall behind Ron and Ginny, ushered by Professors Sprout, Flitwick, and Snape. Harry couldn't even begin to imagine what had happened to affect so many students this way. At the head table, Buffy and Willow were arguing in hushed voices, while Professor Sinistra sobbed quietly on Professor Vector's shoulder, a letter clutched in her hand. 

"You should've listened to me when you had the chance, Potter," Malfoy's sneering voice interrupted his thoughts. Harry's eyes flicked up to meet Malfoy's cold grey ones and he felt an immediate surge of anger at the total lack of empathy on the other boy's face. "Father always said that you'd meet the same sticky end as your parents someday-I quite hope he's right." 

Harry was on his feet in mere seconds, his wand pointing steadily at Malfoy's heart. "My parents died so that I could live," he said hoarsely, "and you-you don't deserve to so much as speak their names!" 

Malfoy tsked, brushing non-existent lint off his robes in a deceptively casual motion. "I'd be careful if I were you. The last time you pointed a wand at me, you got a month's worth of detentions." 

"I don't care if I get a year's worth!" Harry yelled. "Stay away from us, Malfoy! You come near me or my friends again and so help me-I'll kill you." Harry felt the cool, calm mantle of anger descend upon him like a cloak as he stared unflinchingly into Malfoy's wide eyes. Malfoy believed him, Harry thought, and what was more, Malfoy feared him. 

"I may be a Gryffindor," Harry told him in a low, menacing voice, "but don't make the mistake of thinking that _means_ anything, Malfoy. I am not noble or good, and if you give me any reason to think you might be a threat, I will dispose of you using whatever means necessary. A good Slytherin knows there's more than one way to exterminate a rat." 

Malfoy gazed at him assessingly before nodding once. "You're quite lucky, Granger," he said, continuing to stare at Harry, "to have a friend so devoted to helping Mudbloods and misfits. I'd watch your step, my dear, because come the first of June, everything's going to change." 

That said, Malfoy turned briskly on his heel and swept out of the hall. Harry stared after him, his mind littered with a confusing jumble of thoughts. 

"Harry," Hermione whispered frantically, "did he just-" 

But Harry held up a hand to quiet her. If he wasn't much mistaken, Malfoy had just told them the date of the planned Death Eater attack on Hogwarts. What was more, Harry had no idea _why_.

* * *

Harry and Hermione stayed in the common room for the rest of the day, getting a start on their holiday work and waiting for Ron to appear. Every few minutes Harry would find himself staring at the portrait entrance to Gryffindor, waiting for it to open and Ron to come through. But hours went by and he didn't return. Harry began to worry that perhaps he wasn't coming back to Gryffindor at all; maybe Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had collected Ron and Ginny from school and taken them home for the break. Or the funeral. 

Harry shuddered at the thought. He'd never been to a funeral, but he liked to think the Weasleys would at least want him and Hermione there, at Percy's. The thought made his chest ache-that Percy, who he'd known since his first year at Hogwarts, was dead. He hadn't liked Percy very much, had been more than upset over Percy's estrangement from the Weasleys last year and his accusations about Harry's motives, but even still... it hurt. Harry supposed it never got easier, losing people, regardless of how well or little he knew them. Percy was another person dead because of him, because he wasn't ready to face Voldemort yet. 

And Susan... Susan had gotten a letter too. That meant someone in her family was dead, and Susan had already lost so many people. It didn't seem fair for her to lose another, but then Harry had ceased to think of life as fair long ago. 

"What do you suppose is keeping them?" Hermione asked, tossing down her quill with a frustrated sigh. "It's been ages since breakfast. I want to know what's happened!" 

Harry shoved his fingers through his hair irritably. "We just have to stay calm, Hermione," Harry said, staring blindly down at his Transfiguration essay, of which he'd only managed to write one sentence. "Getting upset isn't going to help anyone, least of all Ron." 

"And Ginny," Hermione reminded him. "She's lost a brother too, you know." 

Harry's eyes flicked to Hermione's face, radiating disbelief. "Ginny lost all of us months ago, Hermione. She probably doesn't even care." 

Hermione's eyes narrowed. Harry knew that look-it meant he was in for a lecture whether he liked it or not. "Don't be ridiculous," she hissed. "Of course she cares. Percy's her _brother_, Harry. Just because she's...doing whatever it is she's doing with Malfoy doesn't mean she's stopped caring about her family." 

"Funny," Harry said, his voice tinged with bitterness, "because to me it looks an awful lot like she has. Who knows-maybe she was in on it. Maybe she and Malfoy planned the attack together-" 

"Stop!" Hermione cried, dropping her head into her hands, her fingers raking through her hair. "Just stop. Do you honestly believe Ginny capable of betraying her own family like that? Look, Harry, you don't know everything. You don't what she's been going through lately and-" 

Hermione's voice cut off abruptly as the portrait hole swing open. Ron and Ginny climbed through, both looking exhausted and drained. Ron's face was pale beneath his freckles and Ginny's was streaked with tear stains. Hermione was out of her seat in a flash, embracing them both in turn before leading Ginny, who looked as if she might collapse at any moment, over to one of the chairs by the fire. Harry approached Ron, wanting to hug his friend, but feeling distinctly uncomfortable with the idea. Harry didn't express emotion easily, and taking the initiative to touch someone else was out of his realm of experience. But Ron took the decision out of his hands by pulling him in for a tight, brief hug. 

"God Ron," Harry said when he had pulled away. "I'm so sorry. I don't know what to say." 

Ron jerked his head toward Hermione and Ginny, walking over to join them. Harry followed, taking the seat next to Ron. When Hermione took Ron's hand in hers and held on tightly, Harry looked away, not wanting to intrude. He knew exactly how Ron was feeling-the guilt, the anger, the overwhelming sense of loss-because he had felt it all before, not a year ago when Sirius had fallen through the Veil. 

"He's not dead," Ron said after a long moment of silence, startling Harry out of his reverie. Harry met Ginny's eyes and she shrugged, looking away. "The Ministry thought he was, but they managed to revive him at St. Mungo's. Mum and Dad are there now, waiting. He's unconscious and they don't know... they don't know if h-he'll ever w-wake up." 

"Oh, Ron," Hermione said, slipping out her chair to kneel in front of him, taking both his hands in hers. "If anyone can help Percy, it's the Healers at St. Mungo's. Everything will be fine. You'll see." Ron nodded and gave her a shaky smile. 

"So... so what now?" Harry blurted out, looking at each of them in turn, feeling slightly panicked by the day's events. He couldn't help but think of Sirius again, picture him falling through the Veil over and over with that surprised look of confusion on his face, hearing Bellatrix Lestrange's victorious laughter as Sirius fell. And Remus holding him back, looking like he wanted to go after Sirius himself more than anything but holding Harry back nonetheless. _He's gone. It's too late..._

Ginny met his gaze with a lost look in her eyes. "Now we wait."

* * *

Harry hated waiting. It felt like last Christmas all over again, waiting in the kitchen of Grimmauld Place for news of Mr. Weasley, watching his friends shrink slowly into themselves, deeper and deeper, while he and Sirius exchanged nervous, uncomfortable glances. Sirius wasn't here this time, though, and Harry felt like even more of an outsider, watching Ron and Ginny as if through a thick glass, looking in on their pain. 

The two of them, however, seemed content to take their anxiousness out on each other, and by dinner time their brief reconciliation ended in a shouting match the rest of the common room pretended not to notice. 

"I don't see why you're even here," Ron said bitterly, glaring at Ginny. "Your Death Eater boyfriend probably told you about the attack ages ago. Or is this just some sort of front you need to put on, to pretend like you care so no one will know what you really are?" 

"Ron, don't," Hermione whispered, he fingers tightening around his. "Not now." 

"No, Hermione," Ginny said evenly, her eyes locked with Ron's, "let him speak. So-what? You honestly believe I knew about this? That I knew Percy and Dad would be in danger and I didn't say anything because I _wanted_ them to die?" 

"Draco Malfoy-" 

"Don't talk to me about Draco, Ron!" Ginny said, her voice getting louder. Several people turned to look at them before turning quickly away. Harry found it ironic that the other students thought to protect Ron's and Ginny's privacy when the two of them seemed oblivious. Instead, Ginny's voice only got louder. "You don't know anything about him-about us! So just... just stay out of it! Stay out of my life!" 

"You're my sister!" Ron countered, face flushed with anger as he leaned forward in his seat. "If anyone has a right to question what you're doing, it's me! And we all know, Ginny. I don't know how he convinced you to go over to them, but he obviously has and if you can't see what a sneaky, lying bast-" 

"Obviously?" Ginny cut him off. "_Obviously? _ You wouldn't know obvious if it bit you!" At this she stood up, glaring down at all of them. "It's obvious to _me_ that none of you have a clue what's really going on in the world, and if you think for one second that I ever could've stood by and let Percy be hurt, than you never knew me at all." 

Ginny stormed off to join some of her fourth year friends in the far corner. Hermione turned to Ron with a glare, mouth open and ready to say something, but at the stricken look on Ron's face, seemed to change her mind. "How about a game of chess?" she asked instead. 

They waited for what seemed like hours for news of Percy, none of them wanting to leave the common room for dinner in case McGonagall returned with word of him. Harry noticed that sometime during the course of the evening, Ginny had claimed one of the squishy armchairs behind Ron's, very close to them. She sat quietly gazing into the fire with a hollowed-out look on her face, her eyes dark and unfocused. Her legs were folded beneath her, arms wrapped around herself in a protective manner. 

Harry wanted to go to her; his anger, which had carried him through from Christmas, had deserted him in the face of Percy's injury. Now he could only see her as a frightened, grieving girl who suddenly seemed very small and very, very alone. Harry had nearly talked himself into going over to her when Dean, deserting his game of Exploding Snap, came to kneel in front of Ginny's chair. He took both of her hands in his, speaking quietly all the while, although Harry couldn't make out his words. They hugged then, Ginny pressing her face against his chest, her hands fisted in the folds of Dean's robes, and Harry forced himself to look away. It was a private moment and none of his business. 

When the portrait hole opened long after midnight, it wasn't McGonagall but Mr. and Mrs. Weasley who climbed through. Hermione had fallen asleep in her chair, and Ron had to carefully disentangle his fingers from hers before standing and going to them. He and Ginny stood close together with their parents, heads bowed as they listened to softly spoken words while Harry hovered near the fireplace, not sure whether he should leave them be or not. This was a private moment, a family moment, and he found himself looking everywhere except at the Weasleys. 

After an uncomfortable moment of trying to figure out what to do, Harry sat back down in the chair next to Hermione, staring intently at his shoes and trying to ignore the murmur of conversation he could hear over the crackling of the fire. The common room was empty aside from the Weasleys, Harry, and Hermione, and try as he might, Harry couldn't help but hear some of what they were saying. 

"...in stable condition," Mrs. Weasley was saying in a low voice, her arm wrapped around Ginny's shoulders. "It might be a while, but he's going to be alright." 

"Bloody hell," Ron said with a relieved sigh. Mrs. Weasley gave him a look of warning but didn't say anything else. 

"Can we see him?" Ginny asked, her words muffled as she pressed her face against her mother's shoulder. 

"No, dear," Mr. Weasley said gently. "They don't think that's such a good idea just now. And besides, you've got school. O.W.L.s coming up and all that." 

"Not for months!" Ginny protested. "I've got plenty of time to study, and anyway a trip to hospital won't take long at all. Dumbledore could portkey us there in a flash." 

"That's enough, Ginny," Mrs. Weasley said sternly. "Percy's going to be alright, and you'll see him when it's safe. Now, I think it's high time the two of you were in bed. You too, Harry, Hermione," she added, and Harry's head shot up to look at her, his cheeks staining red with embarrassment. 

"I didn't mean to listen," Harry began, but Mrs. Weasley cut him off. 

"Nonsense, dear. Now come over here and give me a hug, then all of you up to bed." 

After the Weasleys had left, Harry followed Ron up to their dormitory, feeling a heavy weight lifted from his heart. Percy was going to be fine, and that was one less person he hadn't been able to save.

* * *

Harry woke up early the next morning and didn't bother waiting for Ron, wanting to get to the great hall as soon as he could in hopes of catching Susan. He hadn't seen her since she'd run out the morning before after getting her own letter, and he'd been worried about her ever since. When he arrived at the hall for breakfast it was practically empty, so he settled at the Gryffindor table to wait, picking listlessly at his food and watching the door carefully in case she showed up. 

Susan still hadn't come to breakfast by the time Hermione and Ron joined him. "What's wrong mate?" Ron asked, piling food on his plate. Hermione pulled out a thick tome from her bag and, nibbling on a piece of toast, cocked her head to the side as if waiting for Harry's answer. 

"Nothing," Harry said. "Just..." He blushed and took a long drink of pumpkin juice before answering. "Susan," he said finally. "I haven't seen her since yesterday morning. You probably didn't notice but... she got a letter too. Like yours, I mean. And I'm worried about her." 

"Of course you are, Harry," Hermione said, peering at him over the top of her book. "Look-there's Ernie MacMillan. You should go ask after her." 

Harry felt like a complete idiot for not having thought of that sooner. "Right," he said, gathering up his things. "I'll-thanks, Hermione-I'll see you later, alright?" 

Harry was on his way over to the Hufflepuff table before he could even hear her reply. Ernie nodded at him in acknowledgment, a strange, shifty look in his eyes when he saw that Harry was coming over rather than just passing by. 

"Oh, hello Harry," he said, gaze focused firmly on the table. "Alright then?" 

Harry ran his fingers through his hair nervously and tried to catch Ernie's eye. "Not exactly," he said. "I was... look, d'you know where Susan is? It's just, I know she got a... a thing yesterday and I've been worried but Ron... and I couldn't... and I just need to talk to her." 

Ernie swallowed and nodded. "Right. Er, well. You'd best hurry up then, because she's set to leave in a quarter hour. She's probably already waiting for the carriage to Hogsmeade." 

"Set to...to leave?" Harry said faintly, brow knitted in confusion. "But, where's she going? Not... leaving school? When will she be back?" 

"I... you'd better ask her, Harry. And you'd better go now, before she's gone." 

Harry didn't respond. He turned on his heel and headed for the entrance hall, rushing past a group of second years just coming in for breakfast and nearly knocking one over in his haste. He reached the entrance hall, panting and desperate to catch Susan before she left, only to find her levitating her trunk down the front stair. He stopped at the foot and waited for her, trying to read her expression and failing miserably; he was never good at that sort of thing, and had never needed to be, not with her. 

She looked terrible. Her hair was loose, straggling around her face in a long, frizzy mass, and the delicate skin beneath her eyes was tinged blue, almost bruised-looking, as if she hadn't slept at all. And she was so pale, so listless... Harry had never seen her like this. 

"Susan!" Harry said, pulling her into a tight hug when she reached the last stair. He pulled away to look at her properly, brushing the hair away from her face and tucking it gently behind her ears. "What happened? Who...? Ernie said you're leaving?" 

Susan nodded silently and took a step backward, wrapping her arms around herself. Her eyes filled with tears and her throat worked as she swallowed several times in a row as if she were struggling very hard to get herself under control. Harry waited patiently, wanting to touch her again, to hug her, but not wanting to force himself on her. 

"It was... Aunt Amelia," she said finally. "The attack at the Ministry. She was... she's gone. And my parents were... in the first war. She was all I had. So now they've given my cousin guardianship. Aunt Amelia's daughter. But she's... in France. And she doesn't..." Susan bit her lip and looked away. Despite all her efforts, a few tears escaped as she clenched her eyes shut, racing down her cheeks in salty trails. Harry reached over to brush them off but she jerked away from him, shaking her head. 

"Don't," she said harshly. "Just... don't. Don't be nice to me right now, alright? I'm leaving! Don't you get that? I'm leaving and I'll probably never see you again, never see my friends again, and my aunt is dead! The one person..." 

"I... can't you stay here? It's school... surely you can go to school here as easily as at Beauxbatons. Do you even speak French?" Harry asked desperately. "Maybe... Dumbledore could talk to your cousin?" Watching her, seeing how upset she was, Harry felt panic begin to close around him like a vise. His chest ached and his eyes itched; he needed her, he thought, biting his lip to keep the words he really wanted to say from spilling out. _Please don't go, don't leave me, I need you..._ He knew she was probably devastated about her aunt, but all he could really concentrate on was the fact that she was leaving. Leaving him. And she was the only thing that'd made him feel good in... he couldn't even remember how long. 

"I can't, Harry," she said, finally looking at him again. She took a hesitant step forward, reaching out to brush his fingers with hers, once, lightly. It wasn't enough for him, but he let it go, tried to concentrate on her words. "She... my cousin thinks it's too dangerous in Britain. And maybe it is. With You Know Who back, and th-that dementor attack earlier in the year, the attacks at Christmas, and now this..." She shook her head. "She wants me where it's safe and right now," she said, her eyes huge and sad in her too pale face, "right now that means being as far away from You Know Who as possible." 

Harry nodded, but he didn't understand. He didn't want to. His thoughts swirled around in his brain with no real focus, a confusing mass that left him numb and lightheaded. He could only remember the next few moments in bits and pieces later when he tried very hard to piece it all together: her arms twined around his neck, the brief press of her lips against his, the way they tasted of salt from her tears, the smell of her hair, like lemons. She would owl, she said. And he must've said something in return, because the next thing he knew, he was alone in the entrance hall, feeling lost and confused and very, very alone.

* * *

"She's leaving then, eh mate?" 

Harry glanced up from his spot on the floor behind a large suit of armor where he'd been sitting for longer than he could recall, trying to piece everything together in his head before he had to face his friends again. Ron needed him now, he knew that, but what good would he be to Ron when all he could think about was the look on Susan's face when she said good-bye? No, it was better to stay out of the way for a bit, collect himself before he went back to the common room. 

"Boy wonder!" the person said again, voice sounding annoyingly familiar. "I'm talking to you!" 

"What?" Harry croaked, voice hoarse from disuse. "Who's there?" 

A figure stepped around the edge of the suit, blocking what little light the tall, high windows of the front entrance let in. "It's me mate, Spike. And look, I don't mean to get down on you or anything, but you look right pathetic sitting here all bad and moody." 

"Thanks," Harry said with a glare. "That really helps. All better now!" 

"No need to get sarcastic with me," Spike said with a shrug. "Just thought you could use a bit of kick in the arse, if you don't mind me saying so." 

"Maybe I do mind," Harry said, scrambling to his feet. "I didn't ask for your opinion, Spike. And anyway what would you know about it? You're just a-" 

"Dirty soulless thing?" Spike interrupted with a snort. "Oh I've got a soul, mate, and I wager I paid more for it than any other creature on this rotting shell of a planet. You shouldn't take it for granted." 

Harry immediately felt contrite. Spike was trying to help in his way, but Harry was too concerned with himself and his wants and feelings to care that he might be hurting someone else's. Even Spike's. 

"I didn't mean-" Harry began, but Spike cut him off. 

"Think nothing of it. You're in pain, I get that. Been through it a fair number of times myself, truth be told. You liked the girl. It's crap that she's left. But you didn't love her, did you? And maybe it's better this way. Best let her go now, when she can still be safe, than let her stay and be killed in the battle that's to come." 

Harry sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. "You think it's my fault, don't you?" he asked wearily. "You think she's better off in bloody France instead of near me, because people close to me..." 

Spike sighed and reached into his jacket pocket for a pack of cigarettes. "You and the Slayer... you're a lot alike. You've both got shit deals that you didn't choose and you're both so bloody stubborn and honor-bound that you can't just run when you sodding well should. And yeah, with a destiny like that, people are going to die. But I've been the big bad enough to know that it's not you that killing them, mate. It's the evil on the other side."

* * *


	17. Go Fish

Chapter 17: School Hard

_"I mean, they promised me they'd take me to St. Croix, and then they just decide to go to Tuscany. Art and buildings? I was totally beachless for a month and a half. No one has suffered like I have. Of course I think that that kind of adversity builds character. Well, then I thought, I already have a lot of character. Is it possible to have too much character?" -Cordelia, "When She Was Bad"_

Spring holiday seemed to slip by in complete contradiction to how slowly it had arrived, and still Harry had not discovered the identity of his unknown potion. He barely thought about the upcoming deadline, in fact, much less spent any time working on the project itself. The whole thing seemed trivial now in the face of the attack on the Ministry and Susan's leaving.

Susan wasn't the only one. Several students had been pulled from school by their parents and throughout the break it became a common event to see a head of house take a student from the hall during a meal only to discover they'd left for good.

Meanwhile Hermione, who was staunchly trying to make things as normal as possible for Ron, announced one afternoon that end-of-the-year exams were only twelve weeks off and they would need to start studying straight away.

"Here," she said, handing each of them each suspiciously colorful rolls of parchment with an air of expectancy. "If you follow the schedules I've outlined here, you'll have just enough time to prepare before exams."

Harry examined the schedule Hermione had laid out in color-coded squared on his parchment with a frown. "This is great Hermione, really nice of you and all, but well… isn't this a bit pointless? Who cares about end of year tests with everything else going on?"

"Don't be thick, Harry," Hermione replied, her voice holding a tinge of impatience. "Exams will happen whether or not we would like them to, and you've got to pass if you want to stay at Hogwarts. You _do_ want to stay?"

"I… yeah," Harry mumbled, flushing and folding his parchment back and forth, eyes fixed firmly on the common room rug. He didn't say what he was really thinking—that he might have to face Voldemort again before exams, and this time he might not be so lucky. Hermione's eyes would get big and she'd hug him and tell him to stop being ridiculous. Ron would stumble for words and try to distract him with a game of wizard's chess or exploding snap, and the feeling of impending doom he'd had since those ravens appeared in the great hall would continue to grow.

So instead he changed the subject. The less he thought about Voldemort—the less he brooded about the prophecy and what it all might mean for his future or lack thereof—the better off he would be. "Have you heard anything about Percy?" It had been almost three days since the attack.

Ron nodded. "Yeah, Mum sent an owl this morning. He's still pretty bad off, but the Healers at St. Mungos say he'll recover soon enough. He got off lucky," Ron continued, his face twisting in a grimace. "Most of the people involved in the attack were killed outright. We still don't know why they left Percy alive."

"You don't think…" Harry lowered his voice, his eyes darting around the common room to make sure no one was listening in. "It's not because of Ginny, is it?"

"Don't you mean Malfoy?" Hermione asked, shaking her head. "It's doubtful. He talks big, but we all know he hasn't got any influence over anyone. He's just a student. To them he's a child, same as we are to Dumbledore and the rest of the Order. They don't trust us with anything, do they? Why would Voldemort or anyone else trust Draco Malfoy?"

"Ginny does," Harry muttered, but Ron looked so distraught at that comment that Harry didn't say anything more.

"You're probably right," Ron said. "Still, it is a bit odd, isn't it? Not that I'm complaining, mind you, but now that I think about it, it's suspicious, yeah."

"Then let's not," Hermione said firmly. "Let's… let's go down to the Potions workroom and figure out your unknowns. We've only got a few days left and you know the last thing you want is to see the ecstatic expression on Snape's face when he kicks you out of class."

Ron groaned but began gathering up his things so Harry followed suit, content to fill his time with just about anything that kept his mind off Ginny, Malfoy, Susan, and the upcoming battle, not that his impossible unknown or his impending failing mark in Potions was much better.

But once in the potions lab, Harry found he couldn't concentrate. He had no sooner gotten out his things than he was putting them away again, noticing with a sinking feeling in his stomach that his phial of unknown solution was dangerously low. He had enough for three, maybe four, more tests, and then he'd be done for. Snape had been very clear about not giving out more samples. With a sigh Harry carefully stoppered his sample and resigned himself to coming back later—it was best he not try now, when he could barely concentrate as it was without all the additional pressure of possibly failing potions on top of everything else.

He left Ron and Hermione to bicker over Ron's unknown ("You need to add more asphodel, Ron, and you're not stirring it properly!") thinking that he might stop by Hagrid's for tea. He hadn't talked to Hagrid properly in weeks, not since he'd started seeing Susan. But just as he reached the stair leading out of the dungeon, a crashing sound echoing down the dim corridor to his right had him changing directions, rushing down the corridor blindly, past decrepit suits of armor and torches gutted in their sconces until he found the source of the noise--an unused classroom and inside Ginny, Buffy, and Malfoy, all standing over a lumpy, headless body.

"What the bloody hell is that?" Harry gasped, staring at the still-twitching thing with a look of confused revulsion. He noticed that it seemed to be bleeding a strange, neon green-colored substance that greatly resembled snot.

"It's none of your concern," Ginny snapped, whirling to face him with a glare. Malfoy smiled grimly at him from behind her back, a strangely triumphant look in his eyes that made Harry want to scratch them out. Buffy, rolling her eyes at the tension in the room, stepped over the body and took Harry by the arm.

"It's just a demon Will conjured to give us a bit of combat practice," she explained, leading Harry out of the room with a firm hand on his shoulder.

"But it's holiday," Harry said dumbly, confused by this turn of events. So now Buffy and Willow were giving private lessons to Ginny and Malfoy, of all people? Whose side were they on, exactly?

"Some people are just over-achievers," Buffy assured him. "I never really got that, you know? Back in high school Willow was always doing extra stuff, tutoring and taking hard classes and studying. I preferred the old, getting by on my looks and charms method of passing classes. Plus, you know. I had the whole Chosen One night job thing going on. Didn't have much time for studying. Not that I really minded that aspect of it so much. Wasn't really the brainy type and—"

"But if Willow created that demon," Harry interrupted, "why didn't it just disappear when you'd killed it?"

"I said she conjured it. As in pulled it from a… an untold hell dimension or something. The whole demon conjurey magic thing, not really my MO. I see it, I kill it, and if it doesn't disappear or, you know, sometimes they melt? Yeah, like right into the floor. I've had many a good pair of boots get ruined by demony sludge. Well anyway sometimes they require burial. Or the ritual sacrifice and burning."

"Er… what?" Harry said, feeling more confused by the second. Somehow Buffy had managed to lead them into the entrance hall without Harry even being aware of where they were heading.

"Were you on your way somewhere?" Buffy asked, looking far too innocent to be trusted. "It's nice outside. Well, for England. Back home it's like seventy degrees, sunshine all the time."

"We're not in England," Harry mumbled. "I was… I was going to visit Hagrid."

"Well I won't keep you then. See you on Monday, Harry!"

"Er, right," Harry said, watching her quickly retreating back for a moment before turning to the front doors. He had no idea what had just happened, and a part of him didn't care to find out. Every time he got involved with something to do with Ginny, things ended badly.

Harry didn't go to Hagrid's. Instead he took a long walk around the lake, trying to get his thoughts sorted once and for all. He could almost feel it, scratching at the edges of his mind—the key to the mystery that Ginny had become. The clues were there, teasing him, but it was like a puzzle in which none of the pieces quite matched up. Harry didn't believe Buffy's story for a second, but whatever her reasons for lying, she had certainly given him a lot to think about.

* * *

The last day of Easter break dawned clear and warm, the sky above so perfectly blue that Harry couldn't help but feel a surge of happiness just seeing it. He, Ron, and Hermione ended up beneath their favorite tree by the lake, enjoying the first really fine day of spring and in Harry's case, trying to ignore the fact that his potions unknown remained unfinished and he would most likely be failing out of Snape's class. A very large part of him really couldn't care less. 

Harry lay on his back, watching the clouds drift across the sky and wishing that he could freeze this moment in time. Time itself was running out. He could feel it sliding through his fingers swiftly and inexorably, each moment bringing them all closer to the inevitable endgame. He glanced over at Ron and Hermione, sitting very close together against the trunk of the large tree. Hermione had Ron's Charms essay spread in front of her, and she was reading it with her lips pursed in concentration, occasionally scratching out a sentence of writing a comment in the margins. Ron sighed heavily, plucking at the grass idly, looking both wistful and bored. Then, with a shocked, happy look on his face, Ron sat up straight, staring at something over Harry's head, across the lawns toward the gates. Harry sat up and turned to look. There, coming down the road from Hogsmeade was a familiar, tall figure with bright red hair. Harry knew no one else who wore dragon-hide boots and a fang-bedecked vest except…

"Bill!" Harry heard a voice yell from the front doors of the castle. Ginny streaked across the lawn in a blur of red and black, reaching Bill in record time. The three of them clamored up from the ground and went down to meet them.

Bill had his arm slung around Ginny's shoulders and Ginny was smiling in a way Harry hadn't seen in, well, not since Halloween, really. She looked as if a light had been switched on inside her, and for a moment, the drastic change confused Harry.

But then he was being engulfed in a tight, one-armed hug and Ron was chattering in his ear while Hermione stood back a little, a faint blush staining her cheeks. Harry didn't have time to wonder at that because Bill's words caught him off guard.

"No, Ron, you've got it all wrong. I'm not here for a visit, actually. You'll find out with the rest of the students tonight, but seeing as you're my brother I might as well tell you now—Dumbledore's asked me to stay on and teach."

"Teach?" said Ginny with a laugh. "Teach what, exactly? Maths and pencil pushing?"

Ginny squeaked as Bill tugged on one of her braids in retaliation for her teasing. "I only took that desk job at Gringott's to be closer to my family," he said with a mock frown, "but if that's the way you're going to be…"

Ginny grinned. "Alright, alright, I'll stop. So if not maths, what then? We've already got two Defense professors."

Bill shook his head. "I can't tell you quite yet, but you'll all find out tonight. Dumbledore plans to explain everything at dinner, but somehow I don't think you'll be terribly disappointed."

They spent the rest of the day with Bill, showing him around the castle and helping him unpack his belongings into the Spartan set of rooms he'd been assigned near the Ravenclaw tower. A lot had changed in the castle since Bill had lived there as a student—trick steps were no longer where they once were, hidden passages behind tapestries ended in completely different places and in some cases, classrooms had shifted to entirely different floors. Watching Bill, Harry thought how strange it must be for the man to be back at Hogwarts after leaving it years ago. Bill seemed delighted with the place in a nostalgic sort of way, but he had a shuttered look to him that made Harry think there was a lot more to his sudden appearance than Bill was letting on.

That night at dinner they found out what Bill had been talking about, but not before Harry and Ron were forced to listen to Lavender and Parvati's whispered giggles about "the really fit bloke" who'd suddenly appeared at the head table. Harry had a hard time not laughing at the expression on Ron's face at this pronouncement—a mixture between embarrassment and frustration that turned his ears bright red. Hermione wasn't helping matters much, either. She didn't join in the girls' whispers, but instead of telling them off as she usually did, or rolling her eyes at their inanity, she kept sneaking glances at Bill, who was seated next to Buffy up at the head table and looking distinctly confused by her chatter, which hadn't stopped since dinner began. She was also blushing rather furiously throughout the meal, and Harry wondered with a sinking feeling as he watched Ron notice Hermione noticing Bill whether the Gryffindor common room would be treated to another yelling match in the long series of rows between his two best friends.

Finally, just before the desserts were usually set to appear, Dumbledore stood up from the head table and tapped his goblet with his salad fork to get the hall's attention. He smiled benignly at all of them and Harry waited impatiently, wishing that sometimes Dumbledore didn't make such a production of things.

"It is my unfortunate duty," Dumbledore began, "to make a few start of term announcements. As you all must be aware of by now, Voldemort's Death Eaters attacked the Ministry of Magic last week. We lost many brave witches and wizards in the attack, and all of us have in some ways been affected. To those of you who have lost family members in this war, I am truly sorry that such things have come to pass yet again in our lifetimes.

Your parents will no doubt be unhappy with the changes I am about to make, but I sincerely believe I speak for what is right and smart in this, a time of war. And yes, I do not hesitate to call it war regardless of what the Ministry is claiming. As most of you have discerned, these attacks by Voldemort and his Death Eaters are not random uprising. This is no easily defeated insurgency. This is war, he is making war on the world as we know it, and our first duty as wizards, as protectors of our way of life is to recognize the threat at hand and to do something about it."

Dumbledore paused here, his gaze sweeping across the hall over his half-moon glasses. He didn't look benign to Harry at that moment. He had an air about him of utter determination and strength, and for a moment Harry forgot how old and frail Dumbledore had seemed in the past year. A glimmer of his former admiration for the man came back, making his chest feel tight at he watched Dumbledore's old face tighten with the slightest hint of anger. The man's faded blue gaze settled on the Slytherin table for the briefest of moments, and Harry was delighted to see Malfoy squirming in his chair, his own gaze locked firmly on his empty plate.

"It is for this reason," Dumbledore continued, "that the staff and I have decided to make some changes to the current curriculum of Hogwarts. What we do here at Hogwarts is by and large academic, theoretical, and I know some of you," here, his gaze settled on Harry for the briefest of moments, "have bemoaned that fact. This is why we have decided to create a more… practical set of lessons. The theory is still important, as you all know, and exams will continue as usual, but we at Hogwarts feel that learning how to creatively use the theory you learn will be far more useful to you in the months and years—and yes, in the battles—to come, than any amount of book learning could possibly hope to achieve.

"You may have noticed a new face at the head table today. I am pleased to introduce Professor Billius Weasley, who will be taking on students from fourth year and up who've shown a predilection for flying. Lists will be posted in your common rooms with the names of these students, provided by our flying mistress, Madam Hooch, who will continue to teach the lower years. Group flying, tactics, aerial formation… Professor Weasley has much to teach those willing to learn, and it is my hope that although these lessons will require extra time and effort on your parts and cannot be taken for O.W.L. or N.E.W.T. credit, improving yourselves will be motivation enough.

"There will changes in many of your other classes as well, but I will let your professors explain those to you at the appropriate time. I've kept dessert long enough." With this Dumbledore gave the shocked, silent hall a sunny smile and sat down, glancing at his plate and waiting eagerly for the puddings to appear.

Harry, Hermione, and Ron all opened their mouths to talk at the same time, but none of them could find the words. "Well," Hermione said after a long moment of dumb-founded silence. "I suppose it's a good thing I made those study tables, seeing as the two of you are going to have an extra lesson this term."

* * *

Breakfast the following morning seemed to last for ages, and Harry couldn't help but feel bitter toward everything, including the bright beams of sunlight streaming in through the high windows of the great hall and the clear blue of the sky overhead, mimicked to such perfection by the ceiling of the hall. In less than an hour's time, Snape was going to discover that Harry had not completed the unknown assignment; what was more, Harry was sure to be kicked out of the class to the delight of the professor and half the students, his dreams of becoming an Auror after graduation utterly dashed. 

"Look mate," Ron said, shoveling into his mouth with the blissful relief of one who has only just finished his unknown and can relax without worrying about potions or prophecies or anything else, "it's not like you need the class anyway, yeah? You can take the N.E.W.T. without Snape's class. Hermione will help you, won't you, Hermione?"

Hermione looked up briefly from a large and, from the looks of it, incredibly old book with a distracted smile. "Hm? Yes of course."

Harry groaned and shoved his fingers into his hair, mussing it beyond repair. "It doesn't matter anyway," Harry said with a sigh, shoving his plate away and gathering up his things. "C'mon, let's go to class. Might as well get this over with."

By the time Harry, Ron, and Hermione got the dungeons, some of the other students were already queued up outside Snape's door, Draco Malfoy, Blaise Zabini, and that weedy-looking Theodore Nott whispering among themselves. But when Malfoy noticed Harry making his way down the corridor, his casual stance as he leaned against the dungeon wall shifted suddenly until he was standing in the center of the corridor with his friends behind him, effectively blocking the way.

"Why Potter," Malfoy said with a smirk, "didn't expect to see you here. But I don't suppose you'll be staying though, will you?"

"Shut it, Malfoy," Ron growled, but Harry just shook his head and shoved past the group of Slytherins, giving Malfoy his best glare. For a moment Malfoy looked put out, as if he'd been hoping for a better reaction, but Harry wasn't about to give him anything he wanted. He'd already taken Ginny away and gotten Harry more detentions than he cared to count. Harry just didn't have the energy for these petty fights anymore and besides, Malfoy was right. This was his last Potions class. His stomach clenched with dread as he stared at the door, waiting for Snape to open it and wondering how badly he'd humiliate Harry once the time came to reveal their unknowns.

For the first time that Harry could remember, Snape was late getting to the dungeon classroom. He didn't offer any explanations, just unlocked the door and swept inside, standing at the front of the room and glaring at them all as if they were the ones who'd kept him waiting. His black eyes scanned the room and for a brief moment, Harry thought he saw something flicker in them, something deeper than Snape's usual disgust for his students. The man looked... tired. No, that wasn't quite right—he looked exhausted, his normally pale face white with strain, the skin beneath his eyes so dark it looked almost bruised.

"Now that we're all here, let's begin," Snape said, turning to the blackboard and tapping his wand with a loud clack on its surface. Directions for a new potion began writing themselves in Snape's spiky scrawl across the board, while Snape just crossed his hands over his chest and glared. No one moved. Harry turned to look at Hermione, seated next to him with several rolls of parchment on the table in front of her, raising one eyebrow in question, but she just shrugged and bit her lip. "Well?" Snape snapped impatiently. "Get out your cauldrons, what are you waiting for? This potion isn't going to make itself. Or are you even more idiotic than I'd originally assumed? Directions are on the board."

The entire class looked stunned, including the Slytherins and Malfoy, who seemed particularly put out that Snape wasn't checking their progress on the unknowns. Harry hurried to get his cauldron and ingredients out, feeling only slightly relieved at the momentary reprieve. Hermione wasn't moving, though. She had her hand in the air, staring at the front of the room patiently waiting for Snape to notice her. Snape seemed reluctant to acknowledge her, but after a moment of glaring, Snape seemed to realize that Hermione wasn't going to back down.

"Miss Granger. Someone had better be on the verge of death for you to be interrupting my class with what is I'm sure an imbecilic question easily answered by anyone capable of actually using his brain."

Hermione's hand came down, but her chin went up a notch. "Sir. I was just wondering about the unknown project."

If anything, Snape's glare turned even darker. "Weren't you paying attention last night, Miss Granger? Or were you too busy with your vastly more important socializing to listen to the Headmaster's speech which clearly stated that lessons at Hogwarts were to be changed from now on?"

Hermione flushed, but met Snape's glare head on. "I was listening, sir. But I still don't understand why the new curriculum would change what we've done over the past few months. Sir."

For once Harry wished Hermione would keep her mouth shut. If Snape didn't want to collect the results of their unknown projects, maybe Harry would get another chance to stay in his class.

"It's not my fault if you can't be bothered to listen or understand the new policies set in place by the school's administration, Miss Granger. Now. Get to work, or I'll see you all in detention tonight."

The class burst into a flurry of movement as the students got out their cauldrons and ingredients out. Harry looked at the board for instructions and noticed for the first time what potion they were making—an advanced healing potion Harry had never even read about before.

Next to him, Hermione slammed her cauldron on the table, muttering under her breath all the while. Snape watched her with narrowed eyes but didn't say anything, and by the time the class ended, for the first time that Harry could remember, Hermione had not finished her potion. In fact, she'd barely started on it, having spent most of the lesson chopping random ingredients and wielding her knife in a way that made Harry slowly inch away from her as the lesson went on.

"I can't believe this," Hermione fumed as they left the dungeons and headed to lunch. "Two and a half months' work on that project, all for nothing! He can't do this! He just can't!"

"Well there's not actually anything you can do about it, Hermione," Ron pointed out reasonably as they sat down at the Gryffindor table. "It's Snape's class. If he doesn't want to mark our projects, we can't exactly force him to do it. And anyway I'm a bit relieved, considering mine is absolute shit and I'd probably have failed it anyway."

"I didn't even finish mine," Harry said miserably. "Although I was sort of looking forward to having Potions free."

"Don't be ridiculous, Harry," Hermione snapped. "He wouldn't have kicked you out. Anyway, there is something I can do about it. I'm going to McGonagall. He can't do this."

Harry and Ron exchanged harried looks but neither of them said anything else on the subject.

The next day the Gryffindors had Charms. Professor Flitwick was far more forthcoming about his new lesson plans.

"Today we're going to practice charming objects to contain spells," Flitwick explained in his high, squeaky voice. He held up a round silver object about the size and shape of a snitch. "Everyone choose a partner, then. This spell will require two people." As Flitwick explained what they would be doing, Harry took careful notes, wondering all the time how this fell into Dumbledore's plans for making lessons more practical. He couldn't really see the point of learning how to force a spell into an object unless...

"Professor?" Harry asked, raising his hand as the class moved around trying to find partners. "What's the purpose of all this, sir? What would one do with one of these ball things, I mean?"

Professor Flitwick nodded. "A very good question, Mr. Potter. Would it help if I told you that the spell we'll be containing in these uncharmed snitches is a Stunning Spell?"

Harry shook his head. "I still don't understand, sir. What's the point of containing a spell that can't be released?"

Professor Flitwick smiled widely and clapped his hands. "Ah, but it can be released! With the proper counter-charm, it can even be set to release at a specific time. Do you see what the purpose is now?"

"It's a bomb," Hermione blurted out. "Sorry, sir. It's a bomb. A Stunning spell you can throw at someone from a distance, and set to go off thirty or so seconds after you've thrown it. Sir," Hermione continued, her eyes bright and her quill flying across her parchment of notes even as she spoke, "would it be possible to widen the range of a bomb like this? So that it would affect more than one person, sir?"

Professor Flitwick smiled. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves Miss Granger. Now, if you'll all partner up—"

"But sir," Hermione interrupted again, looking suddenly extremely distraught, "if we can make these Stun Bombs, what's the stop someone from creating a... a Killing Curse bomb? Something with a wide range that would--"

Professor Flitwick halted her musings with a dark look as the class being whispering among themselves, some of them looking extremely unhappy. "The Killing Curse is Dark Magic, Miss Granger. It cannot be contained, not like this. It's a sentient magic that requires strong feeling behind it and that, thank Merlin, cannot be replicated by any amount of Charms."

If Harry thought Professor Flitwick's lesson had given him something to think about, it was nothing in comparison to his first class with Bill. After dinner he, Ron, and Seamus headed out to the Quidditch pitch for their first formation flying lesson. They arrived a few minutes early only to find most of the students taking the class already gathered, most of them carrying their own brooms as Harry and his friends were. To Harry's disgust but not his surprise, both Ginny and Malfoy were there, standing close together near the Slytherin bleachers. He also noticed most of the students from other house Quidditch teams and many more he didn't even recognize.

Bill came out of the broom shed carrying several school brooms, which he handed over to students from lower years who didn't own their own. "Glad to see that you've all made it," Bill said with a wide smile. His smile slipped a little as his eyes it on Ginny and Malfoy, standing so close together and whispering to each other every so often, but he didn't say anything about it. After introducing himself again, Bill explained a little bit of what they would be doing.

"You're all good fliers, or you wouldn't have been recommended for this class," he told them. "But most of you have never learned to fly with anyone else. As Chasers you might have learned specific plays in which you worked together with other teammates, or as Beaters you might have learned how to play in tandem strategically. But I'd wager none of you have ever attempted group formation flying."

Draco Malfoy raised his hand, looking extremely bored and just a bit put out that he was there at all. "What the point of this? Sir? If I'm going to have to take an extra class, it had better be useful. School's going to the dogs," he added in a mutter to Ginny, who grinned and shoved him teasingly.

"If you don't want to be here Mr. Malfoy," Bill said, his eyes narrowed, "then you're free to leave. That goes for the rest of you, too. This class is completely voluntary and I'd rather not have anyone in it that's not willing and ready to learn. So this is your chance—no one will blame you for not wanting to spend your time learning something beyond the realm of exams and theory."

Bill crossed his arms over his chest and waited, but no one moved, not even Draco Malfoy, although Harry thought that was more because of the glare Ginny was giving him than anything else.

"Right then," Bill said, holding up his broom. "Let's begin. Everyone mount your brooms and follow me."

Bill drilled them in flying for the next hour, having them spread out behind him on the pitch and follow his movements as closely as possible. It was hard work having to watch Bill and copy his movements as quickly as possible, all the while watching Bill for his next move. As much as Harry hated to admit it, Malfoy had a point—Harry couldn't see how any of this could possibly be useful. But being in the air again, flying for the first time in months, felt so completely wonderful, so free, that Harry couldn't care less how useful the class would be.

By the end of the lesson Harry was sweating and completely exhausted, but he felt better than he had in ages.

* * *

The following week Harry and Ron met Hermione in the common room before breakfast only to discover her staring at the notice board, her forehead wrinkled with confusion. "What's going on, then?" Ron asked. "Has Dumbledore come up with more extra lessons for us to take? Thank god we haven't got N.E.W.T.s this year or we'd never make it through." 

"It's... nothing really," Hermione said, but she was still frowning. Harry examined the board, but the only new post he could see was one in Professor Flitwick's neat, tiny writing that said, _All fifth and sixth years are to report for an extra Double Charms today in addition to your regularly scheduled lesson. Please gather on the lawns outside the front doors after breakfast. Missed lessons in other subject areas will be made up at a later date. Prof. F. Flitwick. _

"So we've got extra Charms today, what's the big deal?" Harry said as the headed down to the Great Hall for breakfast.

"It's just odd, that's all," Hermione said. "What could we possibly need three hours of Charms for?"

They found out that morning when they stepped outside to find most of the fifth and sixth year Charms students gathered there, standing in small groups talking amongst themselves. The sky above was a perfect clear blue and Harry couldn't help but smile at the sight. Neville was standing with Dean and Seamus near the edge of the crowd, all three looking very confused by this whole turn of events. Harry, Ron, and Hermione joined them, wondering out loud what was going on.

"No idea, mate," Seamus said, kicking at a rock on the ground. "Somethin' big though, considering they've got all of us down here, yeah?"

"Attention!" Professor Flitwick's squeaky little voice announced from the front doors. The students turned to face Professor Flitwick, who was standing on the front steps, putting him just a few inches over the crowd. His voice had been magically amplified to be heard over the students' murmurings. "Attention everyone!" Flitwick paused to smile at all of them, waving his wand excitedly in the air. "Today we've got a very special lesson planned, which Professors Weasley and Rosenberg will be helping out with." Harry noticed then that Bill was standing slightly behind Flitwick and gave him a small wave. Bill grinned back.

"As Professor Dumbledore has said, we've decided to change the curriculum to be more practical. Today we'll be setting out boundary Charms around the castle grounds in preparation for setting a new set of wards for Hogwarts. Hogwarts already has many layers of wards in place, but this one will be based on the Shielding Ward Professor Rosenberg used at the Halloween Feast. Professor Rosenberg, if you will?"

Willow, who had been standing in the crowd unnoticed by Harry and his friends, climbed up the steps to stand next to Professor Flitwick. She cleared her throat nervously, looking around. "Okay guys, here's the deal. We're going to try to calibrate the shield spell to a wider, more specific area. And the goal will be to set like, focal points that can pull magic from the ground, the plants and all that, instead of the caster." Willow went on, explaining that they'd be working in pairs. One person would set the coordinates for the Shield Spell, while the other person would perform the power switching spell to set the source of magic for that coordinate.

Harry found himself paired off with Neville and they set to work, following the map they had been given of the area they weren't meant to set. Each coordinate was marked with a small flag and Harry and Neville worked their way through them systematically, with Harry performing the complicated charm that set the coordinate and Neville simultaneously working the power switching spell. It was hard work and each coordinate took several minutes to set. Harry had to perform a charm to calculate north, south, east and west for every coordinate, and then another, longer charm to focus all the directions to the particular patch of ground he wanted set as the coordinate. It took a lot of concentration but he and Neville worked well together, and they had nearly completed their area with almost an hour left of the lesson.

As they neared the edge of their area, Neville looked up with a look of pure dislike on his rounded face, his nose wrinkled in disgust. "What's up?" Harry asked quietly, wiping the sweat from his forehead. Their robes had long been discarded as the day became warmer, but even so Harry's t-shirt was soaked through with sweat. He'd never thought of Charms work as exhausting, but that morning had given him a whole new outlook on magic. It was work, plain and simple, and he wondered if this was how Bill felt out in Egypt, breaking curses on old tombs. The idea didn't seem quite so exciting now that Harry had had a taste of practical magic.

"It's Malfoy," Neville muttered, ducking his head. "He and Zabini are working in the next area over. Oh no," he continued, looking slightly panicked, "they're coming over."

Harry turned around just in time to see Malfoy and Zabini, a dark, sneaky-looking Slytherin Harry had never really spoken to before, standing behind him, both smirking and, to Harry's surprise, looking completely cool and fresh, as if they hadn't spent the past two hours doing difficult Charms work. Malfoy in particular hadn't a hair out of place, his cold grey eyes sweeping over Harry assessingly and his lip curing in a manner that clearly indicated he didn't approve of Harry's and Neville's mussed appearances.

"I just wanted to congratulate you, Potter," Malfoy said, crossing his arms across his chest casually. "That was a bit of luck you got there in Potions, with Snape deciding not to mark our projects. I was a bit put out by that, I'll have you know. I worked hard on mine."

"Shove off, Malfoy," Harry mumbled, pushing his fringe back from his eyes.

"I'm just being polite," Malfoy said with a grin at Zabini, "but if you're not going to bother... I was wondering why Snape would suddenly change his mind like that. Perhaps all those cozy little _detentions_ the two of you have after hours made him, ah, see the light?"

Harry flushed duly and glared at Malfoy, at a total loss for words. Was he honestly implying that he and Snape... just the thought was enough to make Harry feel sick. "You're a sick, twisted pervert if that's what you really think, Malfoy," he said heatedly.

"Don't talk about Harry like that!" Harry turned, surprised, to find that Neville was not only flush with anger, but had his wand trained on Malfoy. He looked like he would very much like to use it, too.

Malfoy snorted. "As if I'd take direction from a pathetic Squib like you. You're a disgrace of a wizard, Longbottom. I can't believe you're a Pureblood. No, now that I think on it, I heard a rumor once about your mother and a half-troll. And that would certainly explain your looks."

Neville's face turned even redder at that, but Harry was one step ahead of him. Not bothering with his wand, Harry leapt at Malfoy, knocking the other boy to the ground and landing a solid bow to Malfoy's jaw with a satisfying crack. His hand went immediately numb but he didn't care, too intent on hurting Malfoy as much as possible. How dare he say those things about Neville's mum? How dare he speak to Harry at all, after everything? After Colin and Percy and--

Harry was too busy trying to strangle Malfoy to notice the other boy's wand jabbing him in the stomach. A bright white light flashed between them as Malfoy choked out a spell, his throat working furiously under Harry's fingers. For a moment time seemed to stop, the world washed in white as if the sun were a light bulb switched to its brightest voltage. Malfoy's face, the grass, even the trees flared brightly in that instant, and Harry was blinded by the intensity. In the next moment he was flying backwards, his body wracked with sharp, stabbing pains. He landed with a sickening crunch in a tangled heap on the ground a few feet away, his leg twisted under him painfully as his body shuddered with painful spasms.

Neville's round face appeared above him, fraught with concern as he mouthed words that Harry couldn't hear. In fact, the whole world seemed to have gone suddenly silent, but Harry barely had time to wonder about that before another spasm of pain shot through him and the world went black as he fainted dead away.

* * *


	18. Dead Man's Party

Chapter 18: Dead Man's Party  


_"So, I'm wondering, do the other cookie animals feel sorta ripped? Like, is the hippo going, 'Hey, man, where are my pants? I have my hippo dignity!' And you know the monkey's just, 'I mock you with my monkey pants!' And there's a big coup in the zoo." -Oz, What's My Line 2_

Harry awoke to darkness and the sound of a door banging not too far off. He blinked owlishly, the room a dark blur in front of him without his glasses, his head groggy and aching, wondering how long he'd been out. And what had Malfoy done to him, anyway? His fingers shook as he reached for his glasses, knowing when he put them on he'd find himself in the hospital wing. Again. He hoped Malfoy had gotten detention for the rest of the year for this, considering his head felt like it was about to fall off and his leg ached dully.

Oh right. That. Harry winced, remembering the horrible crunching sound he'd heard as he landed and the pain in his leg... it'd been broken, he was sure of that. Malfoy had broken his bloody leg and hit him with the worst curse Harry had ever felt in his life outside of Crutiatus. It had surely been dark magic. Maybe Malfoy would be expelled.

Just as Harry's fingers closed on his glasses the doors to the infirmary flew open with a loud bang. Harry snatched his hand back and ducked under the covers, but the people entering the infirmary were too distracted the screaming girl they were carrying to notice him. Harry peeked out from beneath his blankets and what he saw left him gaping in shock. It was Snape and McGonagall with Dumbledore following behind them, and between them, her limbs snapped straight in a Binding Charm, was Ginny.

"I'm FINE!" she screamed, struggling against the Binding Charm holding her, for the most part, in place. Snape and McGonagall tightened their grips on her arms, exchanging dark looks over her head. "Let me go, damn it! There's more out there! I need to kill them before they reach the castle."

"Miss Weasley!" McGonagall gasped, scandalized. "You must get a hold of yourself and calm down this instant!"

Snape managed to get Ginny onto the bed next to Harry despite her struggles. He held her down forcibly by the shoulders while McGonagall conjured long, white strips of fabric that wrapped themselves around Ginny's chest and legs, restraining her.

"You don't understand!" Ginny yelled. "Stop being _idiots_ and let me go, damn it!" Harry's eyes widened in shock, but in the chaos of Ginny's entrance into the hospital wing, neither Snape nor McGonagall seemed to notice he was even there.

"Miss Weasley," Snape hissed, his voice holding a hint of danger. "Calm yourself before you say something you may regret."

Ginny screamed incoherently, her head thrashing back and forth on the pillow as she struggled against her bonds. The bed began to creak ominously. Harry thought that if she didn't manage to break free of the ties themselves, she may just break the bed entirely. McGonagall gasped again, her lined face turning to Snape with a look of sheer panic. Snape remained calm, turning his back on them, seemingly unconcerned, to rummage through Madam Pomfrey's supply cabinet. When he turned back to Ginny, the moonlight spilling through the windows reflected against something in his hand--a long, frightening-looking needle.

"Severus, do you really think--" McGonagall began, but her voice was drowned out by Ginny's hoarse screams as Snape approached her with the needle.

"No!" she yelled, her eyes wide with horror. Her voice lowered to a fearful whisper, her eyes wide and shining with angry tears in the darkness of the room. "Please, please don't! You know...please Professor, they'll come for me and I won't..." her voice trailed off abruptly and she slumped against the pillows, body slack beneath her bonds. Snape stepped back from her, tossing the used needle into the dustbin with a disgusted sneer. He'd injected her with something so quickly and expertly that none of them had even noticed.

"Was that... _wise_?" McGonagall asked, hand at her throat as she stared wide-eyed at her unconscious student. "Surely there are other methods..."

"There may well be," Snape acknowledged, checking Ginny's pulse dispassionately, as if the state of her health didn't really matter to him one way or another. "But she was a danger to herself, at the very least. Something had to be done and I didn't care to explain things to Pomfrey. Unless you wanted to, of course."

"No, I suppose you're right," McGonagall said with a sigh. "What do you suppose could've caused her to act that way? Ginny's always been such a lively, energetic girl but this..."

"Classic case of Paranoia Poisoning," Snape said, his voice far calmer than Harry thought should be possible. Harry was trembling on his cot, conflicting emotions battling for supremacy within while Snape... Snape acted as if a student being poisoned and acting like she'd gone utterly mad was something he saw everyday.

"Come, Minerva," Snape said, "she'll be all right for now. I've given her a Sleeping Serum that should keep her unconscious for the night, until I can mix the antidote." Harry supposed Snape was trying to sound comforting, but his cold voice couldn't quite succeed.

When the door swing shut behind the teachers, Harry climbed out of bed, gasping at the pain in his stomach from Malfoy's curse. He shuffled over to Ginny's cot and sat gingerly on the edge, staring down at her pale face, smooth and peaceful in her magical sleep. She had a nasty-looking cut on her forehead and a dark bruise was forming on her left cheek. Harry frowned, wondering how she'd been injured and who had poisoned her. Was this the spell Hermione had found in Ginny's blood, then?

Harry sighed, his throat clenching painfully when he tried to swallow. His fingers found hers of their own volition and Harry choked back a sob. This year had been nothing short of horrible—for all of them, Ginny included. He could see the strain in her jaw even now, the dark circles beneath her eyes like bruises on the delicate skin there. She looked as exhausted as Harry felt. More, actually, and he squeezed her fingers, wishing once again that she would confide in him, trust him. He could help her, if only she would tell him what was going on.

Harry wished things had been different. It has seemed at first that he and Ginny... that she wasn't as over him as she had seemed to be last year. But then, after Halloween, everything had changed. _She_ had changed, had become someone he barely recognized.

But for now, while she lay in peaceful oblivion, Harry could almost convince himself she was the same girl he'd known since that first trip onto platform 9 3/4 so long ago. He allowed himself this fantasy, if only for a few moments. He reached up and brushed long strands of her hair back from her cheek, letting his fingers linger there, enjoying the feel of her smooth, pale skin against his fingers. A great, shuddering sigh ripped through him and Harry wrenched his hand away suddenly, sliding off the cot at the same time.

To his surprise, Ginny's eyelids fluttered at his sudden movement. A moment later Ginny's eyes, nearly black with dilated pupil, were opened wide in his direction. Harry could practically feel her struggling to focus them, but her eyes refused to cooperate.

"Harry?" she murmured, voice scratchy from yelling. "Harry, is that...? Is anyone there?"

"I-I'm here," Harry whispered, not quite sure why he was trying to be quiet when there was no one around to hear them.

"I thought I'd never..." she trailed off, swallowing painfully. Harry took a step closer, resisting the urge to grasp her fingers in his again. "I can't believe you're here. I thought that you hated me... that you'd never look at me that way again and I wanted... I wanted..." she trailed off, her eyelids fluttering closed once more. Harry gave into temptation them, grasping her hand tightly in his and willing her to stay awake just a little longer. He desperately wanted to hear the end of her sentence.

"You wanted...?" he prompted, squeezing her fingers gently in his own.

"Harry... I wanted to tell you so badly. I knew you'd understand better than anyone but... I just...couldn't." Her eyes fell shut again. Her fingers went slack against his and Harry knew she was unconscious.

* * *

Time seemed to slip away from Harry in the following weeks. All his time was taken up with extra lessons, detention (he and Malfoy both had been assigned detention with Flitwick for the rest of the term, but were thankfully taking them separately), and studying for exams, which were fast approaching. 

Harry had never felt more exhausted, not even during those horrible days just before the second task in his fourth year, when he, Ron, and Hermione had spent hours trying to find a solution to breathing underwater. Flitwick let him study during his detentions, for which he was eternally grateful, and even answered his questions or explained some of the trickier aspects of practical Charms work to him. Sometimes he wondered whether Flitwick gave Malfoy the same treatment, but he tried not to think of Malfoy as much as possible. More and more, especially after that night in the infirmary, he was convinced that Malfoy had done something to make Ginny act the way she had been. That night she had seemed almost like herself again, and Harry found himself staring at her across the hall during meals, wishing she would go back to how she was, or talk to him, something.

When he told Ron and Hermione about it, Ron wanted to go after Malfoy, a dangerous gleam in his eye, but Hermione merely looked thoughtful and worried. "I'm not convinced she was poisoned, actually."

"You didn't see her, Hermione," Harry said, staring out across the lake. The sky above was a light, clear blue, completely belying his dark mood. His leg still ached slightly and he rubbed it unconsciously. "She was... wild. Utterly mad. Screaming and cursing at Snape and McGonagall," at this Ron snorted, "and yelling something about how she had to...to..."

"To what?" Ron asked impatiently, still smirking over the idea of Ginny cursing at Snape.

"To... kill them. Whoever 'them' are. It was seriously creepy."

Hermione shook her head, still looking unconvinced. "But that doesn't mean she was poisoned. She could've been telling the truth. There's no way to really be sure."

"We could do that spell again," Ron suggested, looking faintly ill. Harry bit his lip, wishing there was something reassuring he could tell Ron. Ron had already been through so much these past few weeks with Percy being injured so badly. He didn't need to be worrying about Ginny even more than he already had been.

"I don't think that's such a good idea, mate," Harry said. "I, er, had a bit of a disagreement with Ginny and I might've told her about the spell. I don't think I've ever seen her angrier. And it's... it's not right, you know?"

"Snape will have already administered the antidote anyway," Hermione said briskly, "so Vrai Vue is worthless at this point. Anyway," she added with a sigh, "it does us no good to worry about it now. Term is almost over. She'll be spending all her time studying for O.W.L.s. Then you'll go back to the Burrow. I have a feeling once she's away from Draco Malfoy, it'll be easier to talk to her."

Hermione looked away, out over the lake, her eyes dark and shuttered. Harry studied her carefully, remembering that day long ago Hogsmeade visit and Hermione's strange, vague hints at what was wrong with Ginny. He stared at her for a moment longer before turning away. She was right--there was nothing they could do about it now, and besides which, they all had too many other things to think about. They could figure things out with Ginny later.

As exams drew closer, Harry, Hermione, and Ron, along with most of the other fifth, sixth, and seventh years, spent the majority of their time studying in the library or, when that got too crowded, the Gryffindor common room. Their professors had begun dropping ominous hints about the upcoming finals, and many of them had warned that failure to not only pass the exams, but to pass with E's or higher, would result in being dropped from the class the following year.

The week before finals, the fifth and seventh years were taking O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s, while the professors began giving long, detailed lectures about what the sixth years were to expect during their exams the following week.

"Your exam will include both a written and a practical portion," Professor McGonagall told them that Tuesday. They'd already been given the lecture several times by other professors, and Harry thought it was beginning to get old. If they didn't know it by now, he thought, they never would. Only Buffy and Willow's explanation the following day varied at all.

"So here's the sitch," Buffy said, sitting on her desk top and swinging her legs back and forth while Willow stood next to her in what appeared to be a furry purple dress... thing... hands folded together in front of her and an excited smile on her face. "We don't really get this whole grading system. A's aren't good here? You have to get an O? Whatever. So it's gonna be a pass or fail kind of deal. Will's going to do another vamp simulation, and you have to survive ten minutes without the vamp, you know, eating you."

"Oh, don't you just love exams?" Willow enthused. "I just love them. I wish I was taking exams! There should be more exams." The class stared at her in silence and Willow's face fell a little at their unenthusiastic response. Harry felt nervous at just the thought of the Defense exam. Stay out of vampire's way for ten minutes? The last time they'd done the simulation seemed like ages ago, and no one had lasted more than a few minutes at most. Hermione looked like she might vomit right there, while Willow was still going on about the joys of exams.

"Will, you're scaring them," Buffy said blandly. "No one loves school as much as you. We know. But let's face it. Exams are horrible and scary. Like monsters, but with less horns and drool. But I remain convinced _they_ are trying to kill you. Anyway, so we'll spend the rest of the time we have left doing simulations to get ready."

By the end of class, it was clear that none of them would pass a one-on-one vampire simulation exam, so Willow and Buffy, after a hasty, whispered conference, decided that they would take the exam in pairs, with part of it being graded on team work. "So pick your partner wisely," Buffy advised, while Willow beamed happily at all of them.

"I'll create a sign up sheet for simulation practice," Willow offered, snatching a muggle pen and notebook from the desk she shared with Buffy.

Hermione immediately partnered up with Ron, and Harry could tell why--as the tallest and strongest in the class, Ron was the best hand-to-hand fighter among them. After a few moments of watching Neville look around hopelessly while the rest of the class paired up, Harry went over to him with a sigh. Neville would never be great shakes at physical combat, but he'd improved immensely over the past year in the DA. Harry would've never guessed that this was the same Neville he'd known just a year ago, even if everyone else still saw him as the mousy, shy Neville he'd been first year.

"Hey Neville," he said with a grin. "So, partners then?"

"Yeah, alright," Neville said, returning his smile. "We should practice, yeah?" They signed up for a timeslot the next day, Harry wondering when he'd ever have time to attend all his classes, study for finals, and go to all his extra lessons. When he voiced his fears to Hermione, Ron and Neville at dinner that night, Hermione shook her head and shrugged.

"It's all about priorities, Harry," she advised, pulling out her arithmancy textbook and propping it up against the pumpkin juice jug. She turned pages as she spoke, somehow managing to read, eat, and lecture Harry on his priorities all at the same time.

"How does she do that?" Ron asked in a loud whisper.

"Sometimes I suspect she may be a robot," Harry whispered back.

"What's a robot?" Neville asked with a frown.

"I think it's one of those animal things that fly around. You know, from Australia?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "That's a _wombat_, Ron, and I'll thank you never to call me that again. Honestly. Take Muggle Studies next year! You're hopeless."

Practice with Neville the following day went surprisingly well. He and Neville worked well together, and despite the fact that neither of them were very good at hand to hand combat, they worked out a strategy of one distracting their opponent while the other fired _incendios_ at it that kept them away from its teeth for more than enough time to pass the final. Harry and Neville left the classroom feeling rather proud of themselves, discussing the session excitedly as they made their way up to Gryffindor tower.

But studying for the rest of his exams wasn't nearly as satisfying, and Harry spent a nearly sleepless, exhausting week preparing himself. He knew how important these finals would be for his future--if he had one--and despite the imminent threat of the battle to come and the possibility of facing Voldemort again, Harry couldn't find it in himself to give up.

The day before exams were set to start, Harry, Ron and Neville had all shut themselves in the common room with their Transfiguration texts in front of them, practicing turning hats into rabbits, cats, and finally dogs, and then back again. Neville's dog kept coming out without a tail, and just as he was about to start panicking, Hermione came in through the portrait hole with a frown.

Approaching their table, Hermione grabbed Ron's book and closed it firmly with a loud thump. "You've been studying too long," she said, hands on her hips. "Honestly, if you don't know it by now, a few extra hours really isn't going to help. Come on. Dean and Seamus have organized a football game on the Quidditch pitch and they need you lot to fill out their teams."

The boys, too surprised by Hermione's pronouncement to really protest, followed her out of the castle to the Quidditch pitch, where Dean was attempting to explain the rules of football while Seamus conjured nets on either side of the pitch. Most of the non-muggle-borns didn't really understand the rules so the game sort of turned into a free-for-all, but Harry couldn't remember having so much fun playing football. When he'd gone to primary school football had been a bit of torture; he'd always been picked last for teams and the other kids were more likely to kick the ball at him instead of to him.

The next day the sixth year N.E.W.T. students took the Transfiguration exam. Harry wasn't sure how he'd done on the written portion. He could never remember all the small details of the theory and he knew how picky Professor McGonagall could be about that sort of thing. His practical portion went well, though, and despite the fact that his cat hadn't had quite as many whiskers as it should have, McGonagall had looked pleased and he was pretty sure he had passed.

Hermione, who was taking almost twice the number of exams as the rest of the sixth years, was the only Gryffindor in their year to have a final that afternoon--History of Magic. Harry and Ron had asked her repeatedly why she still bothered with that class when it was so useless to begin with, but she'd merely replied primly that history was important and anyway, she'd gotten an Outstanding on her O.W.L. and she wasn't going to drop a class after that.

The next day was Charms, and for once Harry felt like he couldn't have done better. All those detentions with Flitwick paid off; Harry came out of the final feeling more confident about a test than he ever had before, while Hermione spent all of lunch worrying over the last question on the written and whether or not her stuffed crup had danced adequately enough for Flitwick.

"Stop worrying, Hermione," Ron said as he pushed his food around on his plate. The wandless magic portion of their Defense exam was directly after lunch, and Harry knew Ron had stayed up until the small hours of the morning practicing his levitation. "You'll get top marks, you always do," he grumbled.

Harry managed to fudge his way through Willow's exam, but he was already thinking of the following day when he and Neville would have to face the vampire simulation with Buffy. They'd practiced and Harry felt fairly confident, but the thought of facing a vampire, regardless of how fake or safe it was, was always nerve-wracking.

The following day found Harry and Neville waiting in the corridor outside the Defense classroom with the rest of the sixth years as they were called in by pairs to go through the simulation. Harry was thankful when Malfoy and Blaise Zabini finally got called in; he was getting sick of Malfoy sneering at him from down the hall.

Finally, it was Harry and Neville's turn to go in. Buffy smiled at them and pushed her hair out of her face, gesturing that they should come closer. She nudged the bag beside her and it fell open, revealing a whole slew of weapons: stakes, a hand axe, a small crossbow and several bolts, and holy water.

"Stock up, guys," Buffy suggested. "Anything you think you might want. Just ten minutes, okay? And then I'll stop the simulation. Easy as pie. Whatever that means, because you know, I've tried to make pie before and it's not that easy. Especially not if you're doing crust from scratch."

Harry just nodded at this and rifled through the bag, shoving a couple bottles of holy water into his pockets and grabbing a stake. He planned to use his wand as much as possible--neither he nor Neville were strong enough or fast enough to really go one-on-one (or even two-on-one) with a vampire. He and Neville got into position while Buffy moved off to the side, ready to move in if she thought they were in real trouble. And then Buffy clapped her hands twice and the classroom transformed with a sudden, dizzying shift. One moment they were in the classroom they'd spent the past six years taking Defense, the next they were in a dark graveyard with only the moon above lighting the fresh plot at their feet.

The next few minutes went by in a blur. The vampire rose and Harry and Neville moved into action, with Harry distracting the creature by getting its attention with some well-aimed rocks and eventually, his bottles of holy water, while Neville fired _incendios_. When the vampire turned to face Neville and started chasing him through the trees, Harry pulled out his wand and pointed it toward the running pair.

_"Reducto! _" Harry yelled, aiming for the patch of grass between Neville and the vampire. The ground between them exploded in a spray of dirt, grass, and roots, leaving a large hole in the middle that Harry only hoped wouldn't be there when the simulation ended. The vampire tripped into the hole and Neville yelled excitedly, whirling around to cast one last _Incendio_. The vampire burst into flames with a loud screech. Only a moment later it's still-burning body crumbled into a pile of dust, leaving nothing but a scorch mark in the earth and a few old rags of clothing.

"Wow," Buffy said, taking a few steps forward to examine the hole in the ground. "Not a tactic I myself have used before, but if it works, it works. The bad news is, that wasn't actually ten minutes, so..."

"What?" Harry said, turning to face Buffy. "But we killed it! Shouldn't that matter more than a time limit?"

"That's not fair!" Neville added, crossing his arms over his chest, looking extremely disgruntled. "We should get extra points for killing that thing! It seemed quite a bit more vicious that usual, if you ask me."

Buffy's lips twitched and she burst out laughing. "Sorry, sorry. Have you ever noticed how sometimes being mean can also be really fun? You pass. Did you really think I was going to fail you after all the running and the throwing of rocks and the blasting giant holes in the ground?"

After that, the rest of finals seemed to go by in a blur until Friday, when Harry, Ron and Hermione headed down to the dungeons to take their Potions exam. As expected, Snape not only set them a grueling written, but also had them brew the most difficult potion they'd studied that term for the practical. Harry felt sweat dripping down his forehead as he carefully prepared his ingredients in the stiflingly hot potions classroom. Across the room, Malfoy made a face at him and Harry glared back. How was it that despite the heat and the pressure of the exam itself, Malfoy managed to look so perfectly cool and calm, while Harry felt like he might explode with one more sneering glare from Snape. His hands shook as he shredded his daisy roots, and he didn't think he'd ever been this nervous during an exam, not even his Potions O.W.L.

Afterwards, Hermione wanted to discuss the written but Harry waved her off, heading outside to collapse beneath the large tree by the lake. Most of the school was outside, walking barefoot on the shore of the lake, splashing and laughing and enjoying the end of the term. They had a week before exam results came back. A week to relax and enjoy the first throes of summer, but Harry felt even more tense than before, if anything.

"Harry," Hermione began tentatively, putting down the novel she'd been reading. "What's wrong? Exams are over, and I promise I won't try to go back over the Potions written, although I am wondering about that last question. But you look like you're still worrying."

"I am," Harry admitted, giving her a strange look. "Aren't you? You were there when Malfoy... June first is in two days, and we've still got no idea what's going to happen."

"You don't know anything will happen, Harry," Hermione said, her brow furrowed with concern. "Malfoy probably doesn't know anything, and just because he alluded that June first would be the day of the attack doesn't mean Voldemort and his Death Eaters are suddenly going to show up at the school gates."

"But it doesn't mean he won't, either," Ron pointed out, looking suddenly pale.

"We told Dumbledore what Malfoy said ages ago," Hermione said calmly. "There's nothing else we can do."

"That's not true Hermione," Harry said in a low voice. "We can... we can tell the other students. Our friends... they should know what's coming. We can prepare. We have those potions, practically stockpiling them in the boy's dormitory."

"You know those only work if you take them beforehand, Harry," Hermione said. "And we don't know that anything is going to happen, but I guess..." She paused, her eyes scanning Harry's determined face. "I guess it couldn't hurt."

"I wish we knew what the staff are planning. Or whether they are at all," Ron said, sighing. "We're not bloody kids anymore! They can't just keep us in the dark like this."

"They can. And they will." Harry ran his fingers through his hair in frustration. Across the lawn he saw Seamus and Dean heading toward them, waving to get their attention. "Harry, Ron, Hermione," Seamus said with a grin as he and Dean came to a halt in front of them. Seamus glanced around quickly before squatting down and lowering his voice. "We're planning a party tonight in the Room of Requirement. A sort of end of exams celebration."

Harry, Ron, and Hermione exchanged glances, Hermione managing to look only slightly disapproving of the idea. "It's probably against school rules," Hermione said. "But I suppose we can have a last meeting of the D.A. with, erm, food and things."

"Whatever you need to tell yourself to have a bit of fun," Dean said with a wink. "Anyway Harry, we were hoping you'd use your D.A. coin thing to call a meeting, so that works out well."

After Dean and Seamus left, Hermione turned to Harry with a smile. "Well there you go," she said. "The party will be the perfect place to let everyone know what's going on, if that's what you really want."

"Put a bit of a damper on things," Ron said with a frown.

"So will being attacked by a load of Death Eaters and giants," Harry said.

Later that day found the three of them in the sixth year boy's dormitory, collecting the phials upon phials of enhancing potions and most importantly, the Chronos Concoction, which had taken Harry and Hermione nearly two months to get right.

"We're sure these things work?" Ron asked nervously as they began to pile the phials into their bags.

"We've tested them, Ron," Hermione said impatiently, hefting her pack carefully onto her shoulder. "All the D.A. knows how to use them. We've been preparing for something like this all year, whether they knew it or not."

"But what about..." Ron lowered his voice, eyes darting nervously around the room despite the fact that they were alone in the dorm. "What about the Slytherins? What do you suppose they'll do when they attack comes?"

Hermione frowned. "Dunno. I'm more worried about the teachers. Last time, with the dementors, they tried to keep us back in the castle."

"They won't do that again," Harry said grimly. "Look what they've been teaching us this term--group flying tactics, charm bombs, warding... they're creating an army, a real one this time, and they'll expect us to fight."

"And the Slytherins?" Ron asked.

Harry shrugged. "Slytherins aren't fighters, not really. If anything, they'll hide. If they join the other side, though, well..." He looked at his friends, his lips pressed into a thin line. "They're not our classmates anymore. They're Voldemort's supporters, and that's their choice, but it's not something we can accept."

* * *

The room of requirement was filled by the time they got there. The entire D.A. had shown up, along with most of the upper classes, with the exception of Slytherin, none of whom had shown up at all. For some reason that lack made Harry extremely nervous. Even though Slytherin was notorious for not mixing with the other houses, Harry expected that some of them at least would show up for a party this size. 

They had decided to make an announcement early on, before the celebration really got under way. Hermione kept elbowing Harry in the ribs until he cleared his throat and climbed up on a spindly table, trying to get everyone's attention. In the din of the party, no one seemed to notice.

"Oy!" yelled Ron. "We've got an announcement to make!"

Harry winced. He hadn't realized Ron could be quite so loud and now everyone was staring at him with confused looks on their faces. He hated this. He didn't want to spoil the party. He wished they didn't have to worry about this at all, and they shouldn't have to. They were still in school—war, battles, protecting their school... these weren't things that normal kids should have to go through. But looking around at the people gathered in this room, he could tell by the hard look in their eyes that some of them, at least, already knew. And they were ready, determined. They had to be, if they wanted to survive.

"So you might've noticed what the changes in lessons are gearing up for. Dumbledore and the rest don't want you to know, but, well... there's no easy way to say this. Voldemort and his Death Eaters are planning an attack on the castle, and it's coming soon. We don't know much about it," he added at the looks of horror on their faces, "but we know it's going to happen in the next few days. It'll be a daytime attack, a-and Voldemort will bring the giants." He swallowed hard. "And probably the dementors."

The room erupted in a flurry of sound—questions, confusion, and protests. Harry heard Dennis Creevey's voice shouting above the rest. "How do you know? How can we be sure?"

The room quieted slightly to hear Harry's answer. He didn't know what to say—_I found a secret door in the forest and had a vision_, sounded incredibly stupid in his head.

"Does it matter?" he said finally, feeling incredibly tired. "It's going to happen, we can't stop it. But we can be prepared to fight. We have the potions we've been testing in D.A. meetings for anyone who wants them. And I... I'm sorry. But I thought you should know."

Harry climbed down from the table, feeling horrible. He knew he had to tell them, but the room was completely silent now, and no one looked like they wanted to celebrate anymore. He really couldn't blame them. Exams had been difficult, particularly for the fifth and seventh years, and everyone had been looking forward to a week off before results came out. A week to relax and have fun and just not worry about anything at all. But Harry had ruined that for them. No, Voldemort had. He had taken away their childhood, and it made Harry hate him even more.

It wasn't just about him anymore, about the prophecy and what was to come. It was these people, his friends, and everything Voldemort had taken from them.

Slowly the noise in the room began to increase again as Hermione and Ron handed out phials of potion and everyone began discussing Harry's news. Feeling miserable, Harry knew he couldn't stay there any longer and pretend that everything would be okay when he just didn't know anything of the sort. While his friends were busy with the potions, Harry ducked out of the room of requirement and headed back for the dorm, shaking with fear and anger.

The corridors were dark and Harry made his way through them carefully, not wanting to be caught out after curfew alone by Snape or Filch. Even though most professors turned a blind eye to things like breaking curfew in the week after exams, Harry knew Snape would take any reason he could to get Harry in trouble, and Filch just liked giving students a hard time. He didn't see anyone on his way back to Gryffindor, although Mrs. Norris did catch a glimpse of him as he turned the final corner to the Fat Lady's portrait, but she barely had time to let out one wavering yowl before Harry was through the entrance.

The common was deserted and Harry frowned, glancing at his watch. It was still early, barely ten o'clock, and Harry was surprised to find it so empty. He knew that most of the younger students had not been invited to the party in the room of requirement and he hadn't seen many of them there, but then where were they? They couldn't possibly have all gone to bed...

And then the smell hit him. Coughing and holding his hands over his nose and mouth, Harry sprinted toward the spiraling stairs that led to the boy's dormitory, silently cursing the invention of dung bombs. What git would set off a load of dung bombs on the last day of exams, when everyone would want to stay up late in the common room celebrating?

Up in the dormitory, Harry wanted nothing more than to collapse on his bed. He opened the door and nearly yelled in shock--his bed, his trunk, the table by his bed were all completely trashed and for a moment Harry was thrown back to second year, when the same thing had happened. Then it had been Ginny, searching for Tom Riddle's diary, but Harry couldn't imagine any Gryffindor doing something like this.

Rushing forward, he went through his trunk quickly. His Invisibility Cloak was still there, but the Marauder's Map...

"It's gone," Harry whispered, shock and confusion running through him. Who could've done this? And who would even know what the map was to take it in the first place? Ginny. Harry didn't want to believe it, but she was only one Harry could think of that had access to Gryffindor tower and might know about the map. He couldn't remember ever mentioning it around her, but the twins were her brothers and it wouldn't surprise him if they had told her about the map themselves. Or Ron or Hermione—before Halloween none of them would've considered that Ginny might turn against them.

His eyes flitted around the room desperately, lighting upon his bed. The spread had been rucked back and the pillows thrown to the floor, but there, pinned to the headboard, was a folded piece of parchment with his name scrawled across in an unfamiliar hand.

Harry snatched the note off the headboard and opened it quickly, his hands shaking and his heart pounding wildly in his chest as he struggled to stay calm.

_We've taken Ginny Weasley. If you wish to recover her, you will tell no one about this letter. You will follow the map below. You have until midnight tonight to come, or she will be killed. _

The parchment fell from Harry's trembling fingers. For a moment he just stood there, his mind an utter blank and his body frozen with shock. Ginny had been taken. The note hadn't been signed, but Harry had a good guess who. He should've tried harder to keep her away from Malfoy, to convince her that Malfoy could never be what she thought he was. But he hadn't, and now she was gone.

Harry snatched up the note and studied the map carefully. The spot they were keeping Ginny seemed to be just on the other side of the forest, and there was a careful diagram drawn below of the entrance to what appeared to be a tunnel leading out of the forest. The map ended there—Harry supposed he was going wherever the tunnel lead. Clenching the note in his fist, Harry grabbed his Invisibility Cloak, wand, and broomstick from his trunk. He only had two hours to find Ginny before it was too late. It was a trap--he knew it was. In all likelihood neither he or Ginny would get out of this, not if Malfoy was working for Voldemort in the Death Eaters and had tricked Ginny so effectively.

But they didn't know about the Invisibility Cloak. Harry's only hope was to surprise them and get Ginny out before they knew what was happening. Pausing for a moment, Harry stuffed a few phials of potion into his pockets and looked around the room, hoping it wasn't the last time he ever saw it.

Then, spreading the note out and laying it carefully on Ron's bed after memorizing the map, Harry pushed open the dormitory window and climbed out onto the ledge. Holding his breath, Harry leaped out the window and onto his broom, flying out over the castle and down toward the forest below.

* * *


	19. Dopplegangland

Chapter 19: Dopplegangland

_"Hmm, it's sad, granted. But let's look at the upside for a moment. I mean, what kind of a future would she've really had with him? She's got 2 jobs -- Denny's waitress by day, Slayer by night -- and Angel's always in front of the TV with a big blood belly, and he's dreamin' of the glory days when Buffy still thought this whole creature of the night routine was a big turnon." – Xander, 'Surprise'_

By the time Harry found the hidden entrance to the tunnel in the forest, several minutes had already passed and he was beginning to sweat, wondering how much farther he'd have to go and whether he'd be there within the time limit. Pulling his Invisibility Cloak on, Harry examined the tunnel's entrance carefully. Like the secret entrance under the Whomping Willow, this one was hidden in the roots system of a large tree. After a few more minutes of frantic searching, Harry found a likely-looking knot on the tree and pressed. The earth below the roots opened just wide enough to admit a thin person. Leaning his broom against the trunk of a nearby tree and covering it with brush, Harry took a deep breath and slid down into the tunnel.

Like the tunnel below the Willow, this one was dark and seemed to be carved into the earth. Harry made his way through the darkness of the tunnel quickly, his lit wand held in front of him to light the way. The tunnel itself was cool and damp, smelling of earth and mud and the unmistakable stench of death. From time to time he felt bones crunching beneath his boots, but he did not look down to examine them—he didn't want to know from what or whom the came. The tunnel seemed to go for miles, heading inexorably downward in a gentle slope all the while. The whole thing gave him a feeling of dread, reminding him forcibly of his journey into the Chamber of Secrets, down to the fact that, once again, it was Ginny he was hoping to find at the end.

Up ahead, a dim light flickered against the rough surface of the earthen walls. Harry quickened his pace and whispered "_Nox_," dousing the light on his wand. If someone was waiting for him at the end of the tunnel—and surely, someone must be waiting as this was, after all, a very obvious trap he was walking into—he didn't want to give away his position any sooner than necessary.

The tunnel ended abruptly in a large, vault-like stone door that filled the entirety of the curved entrance. An elaborate dragon stood out in stark relief against the dingy grey of the stone in greens and golds and silvers; for a brief moment Harry thought the dragon was real—albeit very small for a dragon—before he realized that it was only a carving, but one done in exquisite detail. Flickering torchlight lit the edge of the door in a circle of yellow. The door was ajar slightly. Although this seemed like a bad sign to Harry, he shrugged and pulled the door open a few more inches, just enough that he could slip through. Harry knew he was being led, but he didn't see what choice he had but to follow, not if he wanted any chance at all to save Ginny…

The door led to a dim dungeon corridor in which barred cell after cell was set, lining the space in a chilly replica of a prison. Harry pulled his Invisibility Cloak closer around him and started cautiously up the corridor, peering into each cell. He was halfway down the hall before he heard a noise—the distinct sound of someone moaning as if they were in considerably pain.

"Ginny!" Harry cried out. Abandoning all caution, Harry began to run, letting the cloak stream out behind him. He knew he could be seen, but he could hardly force himself to care when it sounded like Ginny was being tortured.

He found her in the very last left-hand cell. Her wrists were trapped in heavy iron manacles that hung from a chain connected to the ceiling high above her head, stretching her arms beyond what seemed possible. The toes of her boots just grazed the filthy floor of the cell and her head hung down, her long hair concealing her face in a matted, dirty curtain. Harry gasped at the sight of her and rushed forward.

"Ginny?" Harry said again, his voice low and hoarse with fear. She raised her head weakly and Harry couldn't help but gasp again. Her face was parchment white and streaked with dirt and tears, her eyes huge and dark against the paleness of her skin.

"Harry?" she whispered. "What are you doing here?"

Harry moved forward the last few steps toward her and grasped her above the waist, lifting her against him to relieve the pressure on her wrists and arms. Her head lolled forward to rest against his shoulder as Harry shifted her weight to free his wand hand.

"Never mind that now," he murmured, trying to conceal the fear and horror he felt at the sight of her. How—_how_—could he have let this happen? He and Ron and Hermione had been so caught up in everything else, in the preparations for the upcoming battle, in securing the grounds and setting the boundaries for Willow's spell, that they'd had no problem ignoring Ginny for the past several weeks. Not that they would've wanted to notice what she was up to anyway, he thought bitterly to himself as he pulled his wand from his pocket. No, they'd been too childishly, selfishly angry at her to care that she may just be in real danger.

"_Alohamora_!" he muttered, pointing his wand at the manacles that held her. Nothing happened.

"They're surely charmed against that," Ginny mumbled bitterly into his neck. "You'll never get me out of here."

Frowning, Harry stared at the chains, thinking frantically. The hoops of metal were loose about the delicate bones of her wrists, but tight enough to prevent her hands from simply slipping through with enough pulling. If only they were just a bit larger, then maybe he could force her hands through…

"That's it!" Harry said. "_Engorgio_!"

Immediately the metal of the manacles glowed a brilliant blue and began to expand; within a few seconds her wrists fell limply from the chains and her full body weight rested against him. Harry lowered her until her feet touching the ground.

"Can you stand?" Harry asked.

She held onto his arms and nodded. "I-I think so," she said.

Harry took a step toward the door of the cell. Ginny's legs immediately gave out. Her fingers tightened painfully around his arms as she collapsed against him, groaning in pain and frustration. Harry caught her around the waist, trying to hold her up. She was a dead weight in his arms, and a lot heavier than she looked. "I'm sorry, Harry. I can't…"

Gritting his teeth, Harry hefted her weight to his right arm and bent carefully, slipping his left arm under her legs to lift her in his arms. Her head lolled against his neck weakly.

"We've got to get out of here," Harry whispered. "I'll try to get you as far as the tunnel—do you think you can make it the rest of the way?" Harry had to forcibly repress the urge to set her down and go off in search of Malfoy. Ginny was his girlfriend, or something like it, anyway, and he'd left her in this god-forsaken place for who knows how long, chained up like some kind of sick offering. Harry shook with fury. Now, at least, Ginny might believe him when he told her what a slimy git Malfoy was.

"Oh Harry," she murmured. "I knew you would come for me. You're always there to rescue me." She sighed heavily.

Harry blinked in confusion and paused mid-stride, half-way to the cell door. Then, as if a blinding light had suddenly gone off in his head, Harry dropped Ginny abruptly and began back away. She landed with a thump, grunting in pain and staring at him, hurt and confused. "Harry?" she asked. "What's going on?"

"You're not Ginny," he said, searching his pockets frantically for his wand. "Ginny would never expect someone to rescue her—she'd just go ahead and do it herself."

The Not-Ginny smiled slyly and got to her feet, brushing off her filthy robes. "Ten points to Gryffindor," she sneered. "You needn't bother looking for your wand," she added, pulling that very object from her sleeve. She twirled it deftly between her fingers, looking very pleased with her own cleverness.

"Who are you?" Harry asked, his voice low and harsh.

"Haven't you figured it out yet, Potter?" the imposter asked. "I knew you were dense, but honestly, it should be obvious even to someone with your inferior, well, everything."

"Malfoy," Harry said flatly. Of course it was Malfoy—who else could've gotten Ginny out of the way long enough to make it appear she'd gone missing? They'd probably already found her by now, Harry thought angrily to himself, locked up in a broom cupboard somewhere in the castle. He cursed himself for being such a fool, but when he'd found the note, he hadn't been able to think properly. He hadn't been thinking at all.

"Got it in one," Malfoy said. It was disturbing to see his smirk on Ginny's face. Malfoy pointed the wand at Harry with a gleefulness that was almost frightening. "I think it's my turn to decide on a curse for _you_," he said with mock thoughtfulness. "I think Cruciatus would be appropriate, don't you? Or is it too soon? Perhaps I should start out with a few Stinging hexes, and that Bat Bogey Ginny taught me can be quite entertaining, before getting to the climax. What do you think?"

Malfoy raised the wand and Harry tensed, ready to dodge out of the way, but before Malfoy could get the words out, his body—Ginny's body—abruptly began to shimmer and change. His hair bleached out from the roots, white blond eating up the red of Ginny's hair as it spread from his part while it shortened. Harry had to squint against the shimmering light coming off of Malfoy, and when he could see again, Malfoy was back in his own body, wand still trained on Harry.

Harry realized he was gaping at the other boy and closed his mouth with an audible click of his teeth. Malfoy laughed. "What—you were expecting Polyjuice Potion, perhaps? Please, a Malfoy is never so crass as to walk around in someone else's body. We leave that up to lowly Gryffindors who've got nothing better to do than spy."

"Then how…?" Harry knew it was best to keep Malfoy talking. In his experience, evil doers generally liked to brag about the brilliance and deviousness of their plan before they actually carried it through. And in this case, not only did he already know Malfoy _loved_ to brag, but it would also give Harry a bit of time to think of a plan.

Malfoy sighed impatiently. "I always assumed it was a rumor, but honestly, Potter, I'm starting to believe that Granger really does do all your thinking for you." Harry stared at him blankly, trying to look clueless while his mind raced frantically, discarding idea after stupid idea. "I used a Glamour Charm, of course," Malfoy continued, practically preening beneath Harry's bewildered gaze. "They last longer than Polyjuice, and you don't have to spend a month brewing the potion. Who knew that Rosenburg's ridiculous Muggle magic would have some use after all? It's a pity she'll have to die.

"Now then," Malfoy continued, "as I was saying—"

But his voice died out suddenly as Ginny—the real Ginny—stepped around the corner and into the cell, wand held high in front of her. "Hello, lover," she said, her dark eyes hard with determination.

"Ginny. What the hell are you doing here?" Malfoy asked, his voice frantic. "I don't have time for this!"

"You don't have a lot of time left," she told him coldly.

But as she was talking, Malfoy uttered the Disarming Spell. Ginny's wand flew from her fingers and clattered to the floor next to Malfoy, who bent carefully to retrieve it, still holding Harry's wand in his other hand.

"Harry, go!" Ginny said. "I'll take care of this, just get out of here!"

Harry glanced at her, startled. "I'm not leaving you here!" he protested.

"Yes Potter, do stay," Malfoy said languidly. "My father will be along any moment to welcome you properly. _Petrificus Totalus_!" he shouted suddenly.

Harry leapt to the side, feeling the spell rush over his head. He scrambled to his feet, expecting another spell to be thrown at him right away and was surprised to find himself being almost totally ignored. Ginny had sprung forward into immediate action. She performed a tricky forward roll, coming up to a crouch with a small silver object gleaming in her hand. She threw it with deadly accuracy straight at Malfoy.

Only a lightening-quick Impediment Curse saved him from a knife in his throat. Malfoy eyed the throwing star, now laying harmlessly on the ground. Ginny stood and, reaching behind her, pulled a long sword from the sheath tied to her back. She pointed it at Malfoy, whipping the blade through the air as she hefted its weight easily in her right hand. Harry gasped at the sight of it. The jeweled hilt and etched blade were things he could never forget… Gryffindor's sword, the same sword he'd pulled out of the Sorting Hat that horrible night in the Chamber of Secrets.

"Let's do this," Ginny said, glaring. "Do you honestly think you can take me?"

"I don't have to take you," Malfoy replied. "I just have to not die for the next five minutes. _Lover_."

Ginny growled and leapt into motion. She was fast, so fast that Harry could hardly believe it. He could only stare in shock as she dodged a Stunner and rushed at Malfoy, sword held high. He gasped and twirled quickly to his right, stuffing Harry's wand into his pocket. In the next moment he had bent low, fumbling with his boot. When he stood he held a silver dagger grasped in his hand. He brought it up just in time to block a swing from Ginny's sword. Harry watched them exchange furious blows, looking around the cell frantically for something that might help. A rock, anything hard that he could hit Malfoy over the head with…

But from what he could see, that wouldn't be necessary. Ginny forced Malfoy inexorably into a corner with the speed of her blows, only allowing him time to defend her parries. They broke apart, breathing hard. "That's my knife," Ginny gasped, eyes narrowed at Malfoy.

"Well, you're about to get it back," Malfoy sneered. But the fight lasted only a few more minutes. Malfoy was tiring rapidly, the combined forces of Ginny and a much smaller weapon forcing him to block far more than he attacked. He blocked a blow from Ginny. She slid the blade of her sword down and around Malfoy's dagger, popping it effortlessly from his grasp. Ginny grabbed his arm and whirled him about, twisting his arm up between them, his back pressed to her front. Smiling grimly, she held her sword tight against the pale, delicate skin of his throat and reached into his pocket for their wands.

"Not so fast, Miss Weasley," a cold voice said from the dim corridor. Harry spun around just in time to watch the door to the cell clang shut, effectively trapping the three of them inside. On the other side of the bars stood Lucius Malfoy and Wormtail, both of whom had their wands trained steadily on Harry.

"Or what?" Ginny asked, tightening her grip on the sword. A thin trickle of blood slid down Malfoy's neck at the sudden increase in pressure from her blade and he whimpered pathetically, his eyes huge pools of grey in his pale, panic-stricken face. "I've got a sword on your son," Ginny pointed out, "and you know I can kill him quite easily."

"You _can_," Lucius replied with a small smile, "but you _won't_. You're just not a killer, Miss Weasley. It's simply not in you. I, on the other hand…" he waved his wand pointedly at Harry. "Now toss those wands here before I'm driven to do something you might deem… unforgivable."

Ginny laughed derisively. "I'm not a killer? I was born to fight and kill—it's my sacred duty! And Draco," she added, jabbing the boy again to draw another small rivulet of blood, "has given me plenty of incentives to comply with that destiny."

"Have it your way, my dear," Malfoy replied. "_Crucio_!"

At once Harry felt as if his very bones were on fire. He thought the heat would melt his skin from his frame, the pain would surely drive him mad… He felt his knees crash into the floor painfully as he lost the ability to hold his own weight, every muscle screaming as if a thousand knives were being driven directly into his flesh. He only barely registered shouting and the sound of someone else crashing to the floor beside him. The pain consumed him so completely, for a moment Harry forgot who he was.

And then, just as suddenly as it had come, the pain was gone and he found himself curled in a ball on the dirt floor of the cell, whimpering just as pathetically as Malfoy had done. With a gentle touch on his shoulder, Ginny turned him onto his back. She hovered above him, her face a mask of remorse.

"Harry!" she said, her voice urgent. "Harry, are you alright?"

Harry shook his head yes, but allowed Ginny to help him up. He felt weak and tired, his muscles aching as if he'd run a marathon. Lucius Malfoy smiled coolly at him from the other side of the bars, tapping his wand gently against the palm of his left hand. Harry, Ginny, and Draco's wands were all clutched tightly in Wormtail's silver hand. Draco cowered in the far corner of the small cell, looking for all the world like a caged animal, his eyes tracking Ginny's movements as if he were waiting for her next attack.

"Oh honestly boy," Lucius Malfoy snapped, staring down his nose at his son. "Get up! And do try not to wet yourself while you're at it. She's only a girl—nothing more, nothing less."

"Father," Draco said, scrambling to his feet, "please Father, you know that's not true! You've got to get me away from her. She'll… she'll kill me! She's vicious. I've seen her in action."

"Now now, Draco. A Malfoy never snivels unless the Dark Lord is present. You must attempt to remember these things, boy."

"What do you want with us, Malfoy?" Harry asked, glaring as he leaned against Ginny, his legs tingling painfully with the aftershocks of Cruciatus.

Lucius Malfoy snorted derisively. "I think that should be obvious, Potter, and I'll thank you not to ask anymore silly questions. We'll be back," he added with a slight smile. "Don't go anywhere."

Wormtail seemed to think this was extremely funny. As the two of them turned to leave, Harry could hear him laughing loudly down the corridor until they turned the corner out of sight.

"This is ridiculous," Ginny said, glaring at Malfoy and sheathing Gryffindor's sword. "We can't just sit here and wait for them to come back. We have to _do_ something."

"And what do you propose?" Draco asked, standing carefully and keeping his back to the wall. "Father will come back and let me out. I don't much care what happens to the two of you."

Ginny glared and sat down on the filthy floor, leaning against the wall and looking completely exhausted. Harry sat down next to her, moving gingerly and wincing at the ache in his muscles.

"I hate to admit it," he told her, "but Malfoy's right. We're locked in here without our wands, and they're bound to come back soon. With Voldemort, and then, well... I'm just sorry they dragged you into this," he said miserably. "You shouldn't be here at all. This is all my fault."

"Do shut up, Harry, and let me think," Ginny said.

Across the cell, Malfoy snorted and sat down against the opposite wall, watching Ginny, his light eyes strangely intense.

They sat in silence for a few moments, Harry's thoughts whirling in confusion. How had Ginny known he was here, and what was going on between her and Malfoy? The fight between them, and what had Ginny meant, killing was her sacred duty?

And then it clicked with a flash of sudden understanding. All the strange occurrences, her closeness to Buffy, that night at the club, the vampires. It all added up into one unavoidable conclusion.

"You're the Slayer."

Leaning against the opposite wall, Malfoy smirked and rolled his eyes. "Why Potter, you _are_ capable of thinking on your own. Congratulations."

Ginny ignored Malfoy and turned to face him. "It's not that simple, Harry." Closing her eyes, she leaned her head back against the wall and took a deep breath. "I didn't want you to find out like this. I wanted to... to tell you myself, so many times, but I just..."

"You just what?" Harry asked, watching her with eyes that suddenly felt too dry. His chest ached and Harry rubbed at it absently. He couldn't think. His head felt like it was filled with water and nothing seemed to make sense anymore except the burning feeling of betrayal and hurt. "Ginny, why _didn't_ you tell me?"

"It's complicated," Ginny said.

"Stop taking the piss and tell him already," Malfoy said with that infuriatingly knowing smile. "And for Mordred's sake, stop pretending to be all tortured about the whole thing. You love being the Slayer. You love having the power, and you _asked_ for it."

"Shut it, Draco," Ginny muttered, turning to face Harry. She took another deep breath. "Please Harry, just listen to me all right? I'll tell you everything later, I promise. But we need to think of a plan right now, before they come back."

"I can't think of anything," Harry said, looking away. "This is... a lot, Ginny. I knew there was something wrong, but I never... hang on. Does Hermione know about this?" Ginny's gaze dropped to the floor and her knuckles whitened as she clenched her hands together in her lap. "She does, doesn't she? Why didn't she tell me and Ron? We've been worried for months!"

"The brain didn't let her lackeys in on the secret?" Malfoy said.

"Shut _up_, Malfoy," said Ginny and Harry, glaring across the cell.

"Look Harry, I don't have time to tell you everything now. But I can tell you the bare bones and later we'll have a real talk, all right? After we get out of this hell hole. And Draco?" She turned her head to give him a hard look. "You had better be thinking of a way to get us out this. It's your fault we're here, and you'd better believe me when I say that I will get out of it just fine. You, on the other hand, I have serious doubts about."

Ginny turned back to Harry and grasped one of his hands in both of her own. "First off Harry, please believe me when I say I'm so sorry for, well, everything." Across the cell, Malfoy made a gagging noise, but Ginny ignored him. "I never thought, when I agreed... I should start at the beginning.

"You know what the Slayer is—we all got that lecture back in September. But what you don't know is how the next Slayer is chosen. Normally, when one Slayer dies, the next is chosen. And there are girls, potential Slayers, all over the world, some being trained from birth just in case they get called."

"But Buffy's already the Slayer. She hasn't died or anything. Unless... she hasn't been replaced by a robot has she?"

"A whatsit?" Ginny asked. "Never mind. She hasn't been replaced. Well, or that's the problem really, isn't it? Buffy... she told you about how she died, right? When she died, a Slayer called Kendra was called. But she was killed the next year, and Faith was called."

"What--the one who's in prison?"

"Yes, exactly. She's in prison, and she's not going to get out, well, ever. She's got a life sentence. And the thing is, since Buffy's already died, she's not even the active Slayer anymore. Faith is. Which means another Slayer won't be called--"

"Until Faith dies."

"Right. Which obviously isn't going to happen anytime soon. So the Watcher's Council—that's the group in charge of the Slayer—decided that something needed to be done about it."

"I thought Buffy didn't work for the Council any longer," Harry said, frowning.

"She doesn't. But they needed her help. Actually, they needed Willow. They found a spell that could separate the essence of the Slayer—her powers, strength, speed, and all that—from the person. From Faith. But first they needed a witch strong enough to perform the spell, and the only one still living is Willow. Then they needed a replacement, someone they could put that power into. Someone to be the next Slayer."

"And they chose you." Harry's voice was flat. He could barely look at Ginny, but he forced himself to meet her eyes. She looked like she wanted to cry, but knew there wasn't time. "Ginny, why did you ever agree?"

"Later Harry, okay?" Her voice had dropped to a whisper. "Just let me get through this, yeah?" At Harry's nod, Ginny continued, "It wasn't quite like that. They had to get Willow to agree, and for that, Buffy and Willow and the rest wanted a say in who became the next Slayer. So they made a deal. Willow had spent some time in England last summer with a coven and she'd met Professor McGonagall, who helped get her the job here. Buffy... she wanted to make sure that the next Slayer had every advantage. And once they found out about Hogwarts, they knew they wanted a witch.

"They didn't tell the Watcher's Council about what they were going to do until after they'd found me. They needed a potential Slayer, and I was the only one at Hogwarts. Well, not the only one, there was some first year girl, a muggle-born, but she was too young. So it was me, and I agreed without hesitation. I thought..." She let out a little laugh, and rubbed at her eyes tiredly. "I thought I could protect my family and... and you. If I did it. If I became the Slayer. I'd have power, and I could... I dunno, save you."

"Ginny I... I don't know what to say."

"Then for all our sakes, keep bloody quiet," Malfoy muttered.

"Don't, Harry. It's. Look. I made the decision, knowing what it would mean. What I didn't know was how pissed off the Council would be. There's some rule, I guess... a witch hasn't been called in centuries, there aren't very many potentials who are witches. And the last one that was called... she was too powerful for the Council to control. When they found out about me—after Willow had already done the spell, of course—they decided to fix the problem."

"Yeah, by having you killed," Malfoy said under his breath.

"I'm not going to tell you again, Draco," Ginny warned, not taking her eyes off Harry. "Shut it."

"Is that true?" Harry asked.

Ginny swallowed. "Kind of. It's--"

"More complicated than that, I know," Harry said bitterly.

"Don't. Please," Ginny said, squeezing his hand. "They hired a group called the Order of Tarakan to take me out."

"The Order of Tarakan?"

"It's an assassin's order," Ginny explained, "a loose-knit group that competes to kill their target. You've been asking me about Halloween for months. The Order had been called a week before, only a few days after I became the Slayer. The dementors came, and that's when everything got a hundred times more complicated. The attack was a diversion to get me away from the castle so that Lucius Malfoy could talk to me. He... he knew, somehow, about the Order. He said he wanted to help, that Voldemort wanted me for his side and it was in their best interest to help keep me alive until the Council called off the Order. I didn't agree. I got away, that's when I found you in the forest.

"But it all got to be too much. Even with Buffy and Willow helping and even some of the teachers... Snape knew, of course, and Dumbledore. But they agreed to keep quiet about it. I didn't want Mum to know. Once the Council called on the Order, I didn't dare tell anyone else about it. The Order would stop at nothing to make their kill and I couldn't put any of you in danger like that. That's when I decided to take Lucius Malfoy up on his offer."

"Ginny. What did you do?"

"It wasn't like that, I swear," Ginny said desperately. "Please believe me. I went to Draco. You saw me that night in the corridor. And he helped me. Lucius Malfoy and the others helped too, by taking out known assassins. But the Council didn't give up, and even with Draco's help, I'm just barely getting by."

"You should've told us, Ginny. Me and Hermione and Ron, we could've helped you. God, I can't believe you'd go to Malfoy over us!"

"It wasn't like that, Harry, I swear. _Please_. I know you understand. Haven't you ever kept something a secret because you didn't want to put the people you cared about in danger?"

Harry didn't know what to say. He _had_ kept things from his friends—the prophecy for one. He hadn't wanted to put them in danger, and he remembered how angry Hermione and Ron had been when he'd finally told them. But they had forgiven him, and looking at Ginny now, he knew she really had been doing what she thought best, no matter how ill-advised.

"Yes," he said finally. "I just wish... things had been different."

"I do too, Harry." She leaned forward and wrapped her arms around him, embracing him in a hard hug. Harry hugged her back. He had missed her, so much, and he hadn't realized until now just how much. Regardless of what she thought, Ginny was his friend, and he wasn't going to take her for granted again. Or at least, he would try not to.

"Oh honestly," Malfoy said. "When you two are done with your little love fest, can we get on with the plan to get out of this bloody hole?"

Ginny pulled away from him to glare at Malfoy. "I thought your daddy was going to rescue you," she said.

Malfoy sneered. "Well if he doesn't, I might as well be prepared, yeah?"

To Harry's surprise and disgust, Ginny smiled at him. _Smiled_. He thought she was done with Malfoy. It had certainly seemed that way when they were fighting to the death earlier. But now she was grinning at him as if she was actually pleased that he was there.

"We have Harry's Invisibility Cloak," Ginny said, standing up to pace around the tiny cell. "And we've got the sword and my knife, so we're not completely defenseless. But I think it best we find a way out of here _before_ they come back for us. Draco, how are these cells locked? Is it magically, or just a regular lock and key sort of thing?"

"They're not magical," Malfoy said, "not that that really helps us, as we haven't exactly got keys."

"I can pick locks," Harry offered, "but we haven't got picks either."

"Lot of help you are," Malfoy said.

"Draco, you are _not_ helping. You're the reason we're here in the first place! You and your notes." At Malfoy's surprised expression, Ginny snorted. "Yes, _your_ notes. As if I didn't know it was you."

"But you came anyway," Malfoy said, sounding oddly weak.

"I wasn't going to let Harry walk into a trap. And I knew he'd come—of course he did. Even if he hated me, he couldn't very well ignore a note saying I'd been taken. He's not like you, Draco. He actually cares."

"I care," Malfoy said, and Ginny made a strange noise in the back of her throat like an angry cat.

"You care as far as it serves you to. But when it comes down to it, you haven't got a loyal bone in your body except to your precious father."

"I thought we were thinking of a way to escape?" Harry interrupted. He didn't want to listen to Ginny and Malfoy argue. He hated knowing that they were close, regardless of how they had gotten there, and he didn't want to hear anymore than he already had.

With a sigh, Ginny sat down next to Harry again and looked from one to the other hopelessly. "Well. Let's start planning then."

* * *

Three hours later they were still in the cell with no plan, ready to kill each other. Well, Malfoy and Harry were ready to kill each other and Ginny looked as if she were quite willing to kill both of them. 

"This is hopeless," Malfoy said, tugging at his hair in frustration. "We're never getting out of here, not unless they let us out, and somehow I don't think that's about to happen anytime soon."

"Do I need to remind you that this is your fault?" Ginny asked. "Just, we need to—"

But just then the sound of footsteps rapping along the stone corridor outside their cell cut Ginny off. The three of them stared at each other for a moment before scrambling up. Ginny handed Harry her knife and unsheathed Gryffindor's sword. Malfoy back up into the corner, looking terrified. Harry gripped the knife, liking the feel of it in his hand. He was ready. Whatever happened, whatever he needed to do... standing next to him, Ginny's face was grim, her jaw clenched and the sword held loosely in her hand by her side.

"Foolish children," a voice, dark and deep, came from the shadowy corridor beyond. "Put down your weapons and stop being idiots, I've come to get you out of this."

"Professor?" Ginny asked, rushing forward. "Thank god, Professor Snape! Please hurry. Have you got the key?"

Squinting in the dim dungeon, Harry could just make out Snape's dark form beyond the cell bars. Harry thought he must be using some sort of Disillusionment charm, because he could barely see the man.

"Of course I have. Unlike you, when I set out to rescue someone, I do it properly."

"That's very interesting, Severus. I find it quite fitting that this, at last, is the way you've been discovered. Rescuing my son."

Out of the darkness stepped Lucius Malfoy, a wicked smile on his sharp face. Harry gripped his knife tighter in his palm, feeling desperate and hopeless as Snape whirled to face the other man. Snape didn't pause for a second before casting his first spell. Malfoy blocked the flash of red light easily with a spell of his own and they began dueling in earnest. Harry could barely see the two of them through the flashes of colored light but he could hear them, Snape hissing his spells in an almost whisper while Malfoy shouted his, as if saying them louder would make them all the more powerful. Neither of them attempted the Killing Curse and Harry knew with a dreaded certainty why. Whoever won would accuse the other of trying to set them free, of defecting, and Harry understood without a doubt that if Snape lost this duel, he would die. No, not just that. Voldemort would kill him.

Another flash of light, bright white this time, and Harry heard Snape shout and a loud crash. And when the smoke cleared, Snape lay immobile on the ground, even more pale than he normally was, clearly unconscious.

Behind him, he heard Draco whimper. "We're doomed."

* * *

Lucius Malfoy gave them all a chilling smile. "Don't be ridiculous, Draco. _You're_ not doomed. I can't very well say the same thing for your associates, of course. Now then if you'll excuse me, I've got to go see a man about the ritual sacrifice of a betrayer." 

Without another word, Malfoy turned and rushed back down the corridor, his robes whipping around the corner and out of sight.

"Bloody hell, Malfoy. You're father is a complete nutter."

"Shut up, Harry, we've got to do something!" Ginny said, crouching down by the bars and reaching toward Snape. He was breathing, but just, and getting paler and paler with every second. Ginny's fingers just scraped the hem of Snape's robe, but she couldn't get a grip on him.

"Hang on a second," Harry said. "He's got a key, right? I... I might be able to get it."

"How?" Draco asked, looking half hopeful, half terrified. "We haven't got wands, remember? And Snape... he looks like he might die on us at any second. Father won't be gone for long, either. Whatever we do, it needs to be fast."

Harry took a deep breath and knelt on the ground. Using his knife, he carefully drew a pentagram in the dirt of the floor. He didn't have any salt or candles, so he wasn't even sure this would work, but it was the only thing he could think of.

"What does he think he's doing?" Malfoy asked.

"Shut it, Draco," Ginny said, and Harry had the distinct feeling she said that a lot.

Taking another deep breath, Harry closed his eyes and tried to clear his mind. It took him a few moments to remember the incantation for the levitation spell Willow had taught him months ago and for a moment he panicked as the words refused to come. But then like a light flicking on inside his head he remembered and began to speak.

He wasn't sure it was working, but he tried anyway, doing as Willow had taught him and imagining the key, inside Snape's pocket. He imagined fingers reaching out and tugging on the keys, pulling them inexorably from the pocket and lifting them up and over. His hands were shaking and he refused to open his eyes, pouring all his concentration into the spell.

"Harry!" Ginny yelled. "I've got them, I've got the keys!"

Harry's eyes flew open and he sat back on his heels, pressing his hands against his eyes for a moment before looking at Ginny with a smile. She wasn't paying attention though; instead she was unlocking the cell with shaking hands, one arm stuck outside the bars as she turned the key with a satisfying click. She pushed open the door and ran to Snape, dropping to her knees at his side.

"Oh god," she whispered, pressing her fingers to his wrist. "I can barely feel his pulse. We have to do something quickly or he's going to die."

"I know," Harry said quickly, hurrying to kneel on Snape's other side. Digging through his pockets, he found his phial of Chronos Concoction and popped the cork. "This is Chronos Concoction," he told Ginny. "Remember—Hermione found out about it? Well we made some months ago. It won't cure him or reverse whatever Malfoy's horrid father did, but it'll keep him in this state, exactly, for one hour." Ginny nodded and Harry tipped the contents into Snape's mouth, hoping it worked.

"Come on," Harry said. "We've got to get out of here. Can you lift Snape?"

"It'll be a job, but yeah, I think I can manage with your help."

"So you're going then?" Draco asked. He stood just inside the cell, his eyes dark as he tracked their movements.

"_We're_ going, Draco," Ginny said sharply, hefting Snape up by the arms until he was sitting up. She slipped beneath one of his arms and wrapped her own around his waist, lifting him to a standing position. Harry hurried forward to help, lifting Snape's free arm around his shoulders.

"I... I can't. My father. You don't understand." But Draco looked miserable as he raked his fingers through his hair, his eyes trained on Ginny. For a moment Harry thought he might actually cry, but then he spoke again, sounding petulant and arrogant. "You wouldn't understand what it means to be a Malfoy. Blood traitor," he added in a low mutter.

Ginny turned to face him, putting all Snape's weight on Harry, who gritted his teeth beneath the added weight.

"He locked you in a cage, Draco. Are you honestly going to stand there and tell me you _still_ believe his lies?"

"He's my father," Draco spat, "my family. Surely you of all people can understand that. If I leave with you now, I can never come back."

Harry sighed impatiently and shifted under Snape's weight. He wished they could just leave Malfoy there. It was obvious to Harry that he'd never leave with them—he wasn't ready to turn against his father yet, regardless of how much Ginny pleaded. But he remained silent. Ginny looked as if she might start crying at any moment; Harry flinched when she crossed the distance between them in two long strides and flung herself against Draco's chest. She embraced him fiercely while Draco just stood there dumbly. She backed away quickly before he could even raise his arms to return it, staring at him hard for several long moments as if trying to memorize his face.

"You've got choices, Draco," she said, her voice raspy with emotion. "You _have_. You're not locked in like me—you get to choose your destiny. Don't waste it on _him_." There was no doubt in Harry's mind that she meant Lucius Malfoy, but he thought her words were falling on deaf ears. Draco would never choose her over his father.

Ginny turned away from Draco, snatching up the Invisibility Cloak where it lay forgotten in the corner. Tucking it in her robes, she took Snape's arm and wrapped it around her shoulders, shifting most of his weight off Harry and onto her.

"Come on then, Harry. Endgame's calling."

* * *


	20. Chosen

Chapter 20: Chosen

_"Bottom line is, even if you see 'em coming, you're not ready for the big moments. No one asks for their life to change, not really. But it does. So what are we, helpless? Puppets? No. The big moments are gonna come. You can't help that. It's what you do afterwards that counts. That's when you find out who you are." -Whistler, Becoming, 1_

It took twice as long going back through the tunnel as it had for Harry the first time. Snape hung between Harry and Ginny, looking pale and barely breathing. But he was still alive, and the Chronos Concoction seemed to be working because he didn't look any worse than he had back in the dungeons.

They didn't talk as they made their way through the tunnel, and by the time they had climbed out of the entrance they were breathing heavily and sweating. Ginny had to lift Snape's prone form out of the hole while Harry pushed his legs up from the other end. Once they were all out, Harry collapsed on the grass next to the entrance, wiping the sweat from his forehead.

"Now what?" he said, watching as the entrance closed up behind them. "I've got my broom, but it won't hold all of us. And someone's bound to be coming after us soon." He frowned, thinking about Malfoy staying behind in the cell. He wondered what would happen to him, what his father would do when he discovered them missing. Shrugging, Harry dismissed the thought. Draco had had the chance to come with them--Ginny had practically begged him to. He'd made his choice, but for Ginny's sake, he almost wished Draco had left when he had the chance.

"You'll take Snape on the broom," Ginny said, bending over to catch her breath.

"Not bloody likely!" Harry said. "I'm not just going to leave you here."

Ginny rolled her eyes. "And you won't, because I'm not going to be staying here. I'll run. I'm fast. But Snape needs to get to the hospital wing as soon as possible, before that potion wears off. So don't argue with me, Harry. You're not going to win. Just go."

Harry gave her a hard look, but she just stared back, arms crossed over her chest and eyebrows raised in a challenge. He wanted to argue but he knew it wouldn't do him any good--she'd just keep insisting and they'd waste time that Snape didn't have.

"Fine," Harry said shortly, standing to fetch his broom from the brush opposite. "But I'm not happy about this and if something happens to you--"

"Nothing will happen, Harry," Ginny said impatiently, grabbing Snape by the wrists and dragging him close to the broom.

"Do you even know the sorts of things that live in this forest? Ocromantuals, a-and Hagrid had a giant in here last year, and the centaurs aren't too friendly either."

"I _know_, Harry. But without magic, which one of us is better off running through the forest alone? The regular boy, or the girl with super powers?"

Harry didn't reply to this, just swung his leg over the broom. Ginny hefted Snape onto the broom behind him, using the Invisibility Cloak to tie the professor's arms around Harry's waist.

"There," she said, "now get going. He hasn't got much time left."

Harry nodded and gave her a small smile. "Be careful. I'll see you back at the castle. And Ginny?"

"What, Harry? You've got to go!"

"I know. I just... I'm sort of glad Malfoy left us those notes. You should've told me before, but I... I understand."

"Thanks," Ginny said, flushing and staring at the ground. "Now go!"

Harry took off, weaving his way through the trees and up over the forest. He could see the castle off to his right and swung the broom around, urging the Firebolt to go as fast as it could. Snape's condition was worrying him and he couldn't tell how long it had been since he'd given Snape the Chronos Concoction. Snape had nearly sacrificed everything, including his life, to help Harry and Ginny, and if he died, Harry didn't know if he would be able to forgive himself.

Never before had he been more conscious of not being able to use magic. He worried about Ginny being able to protect herself, but more than anything he missed his wand, and the fact that it was in Lucius Malfoy's possession made it even worse.

It only took him a few minutes to fly to the castle. He landed carefully, conscious of Snape behind him, slumped and barely breathing. It was very early in the morning, just after dawn, and Harry was exhausted. He'd been awake all night trying to think of an escape plan with Ginny and Malfoy and it wasn't until now, when he was finally back at Hogwarts, that he realized just how tired he actually was. He felt light-headed and his legs shook as he dismounted and reached to drag Snape off the broom. He had no idea how he was going to get Snape all the way to the hospital wing without magic. The very idea made him feel panicked. Just as he was ready to open his mouth and start yelling down the castle until someone came to help him, Dumbledore and McGonagall burst out the front doors and rushed down the steps.

"Dear Merlin, what's happened to him?" McGonagall asked, her hand at her throat while Dumbledore conjured a stretcher and levitated Snape onto it.

"Harry," Dumbledore said calmly as he directed the stretcher into the castle, "why don't you head up to my office and I'll be there in a few minutes, after I've assured that Professor Snape will be all right."

"Will he, sir? Be all right, I mean? Lucius Malfoy hit him with some sort of curse--"

Dumbledore silenced him by raising a hand. "We'll get to that later, Harry. For now, head up to my office. I assume Miss Weasley is on her way?"

"She said she was going to run," Harry said weakly, rubbing at his forehead. He had developed a sudden headache and he felt confused and groggy.

"Professor McGonagall, I think it would be best for you to stay here and wait for Miss Weasley. You'll send her up to join Harry?"

"Of course, Headmaster," McGonagall said, looking as confused as Harry felt.

Once in the entrance hall Harry followed Dumbledore up the wide staircase to the second floor where they diverged, Harry heading farther upwards toward the head's office while Dumbledore floated Snape down the second floor corridor toward the hospital wing. By the time Harry reached Dumbledore's office he was dizzy with exhaustion and ready to collapse into one of the squishy chairs, only to realize he didn't know the password. It took him another five minutes of guessing various candies before he got the password right.

Harry had never been happier to see Dumbledore's office. He smiled half-heartedly at Fawkes, who perched placidly by the desk looking slightly peaky and shedding feathers with every turn of his head. Harry sat down heavily in one of the chairs in front of Dumbledore's desk and rested his head on the smooth wooden surface. He was asleep in seconds.

* * *

Harry awoke to someone gently shaking his shoulder. He tried to bat the hand away but it was insistent along with the calm, soothing voice in his ear telling him to wake up. Opening his eyes blearily, Harry found himself blinking at Dumbledore and feeling like he could go back to sleep immediately on this desk and not wake up for days. 

"I know you're tired, my boy, but we need to have a talk. Then you may sleep as long as you like."

Rubbing at his eyes beneath his glasses, Harry sat up and slumped back in his chair, only noticing then that they were not alone in the room. Ginny sat in the chair next to him, looking almost as exhausted as Harry felt, not to mention filthy and a bit angry. She had a long scratch down her left cheek that hadn't been there when they'd parted in the forest, and her eyes were red-rimmed and bloodshot.

"I'm sorry for this," Dumbledore said as he took his seat behind the desk. "I know you both must be very tired and wanting your beds. But unfortunately there is much at stake here, and you understand that I must know what happened. Harry, why did you leave the castle last night?"

For a moment, Harry thought he saw a flash of anger in Dumbledore's faded blue eyes, but it was gone in the space of an instant, replaced by a look of confused concern so quickly that Harry was sure he must've imagined it. He cleared his throat nervously, sending a sidelong glance at Ginny. Now was his chance to implicate Malfoy--to get back at him for the past six years of misery he'd rained down on Harry and his friends. Malfoy _had_ sent them those notes, he'd as much as admitted it, but Harry was sure Ginny wouldn't want Dumbledore to know that. Swallowing, Harry cleared his throat and let his eyes settle on a spot to the left of Dumbledore's ear as he began to speak.

"There was a party last night, in the room of requirement," he said, flushing a little. He was quite sure such things were against school rules. "Everyone was there, and Ron, Hermione and I decided... well, we decided that the others deserved to know about the upcoming attack. We didn't want them having to be in the dark, completely unprepared for the Death Eaters when they come. So I... I told them. And then I just couldn't stay. Didn't feel much like celebrating any longer."

"I expected as such, Harry," Dumbledore said gently. "I know how difficult that decision must've been for you. What did you do next?"

"I went back to the common room, but it was empty. Someone had let off a load of dung bombs. I ran up to the dorm only to find that my trunk had been ransacked. A-and there was something missing. My map, of the school? The one Crouch took from me fourth year."

"Ah, yes. I remember. And it was missing, you say?"

"Yes. And there was a note. On my bed. It said--"

"No need, my boy," Dumbledore interrupted. "Ron Weasley found the note. We are lucky Miss Granger has such immeasurable amounts of sense. She convinced Ron to bring the note to me, and that is how Professor Snape found you."

Harry nodded dumbly, barely registering Dumbledore's words. "I went after Ginny. Took my father's cloak and my broom. But when I got there, when I found her, I mean. I-it wasn't her. It was--"

"They were using Draco Malfoy as bait, sir," Ginny interrupted, sending Harry a glance that clearly said to keep his mouth shut. "They had Glamoured him to look like me. It was meant to be a trap. I had gotten a note of my own, you see, that Harry had been taken. I got there much faster than they had supposed I could, always underestimating Slayer speed, you know, and Draco was delusional. I think his father must've gotten to him somehow, because he seemed to believe that he was proving his loyalty to his family by acting as bait. But before I could convince him otherwise--you know we've had such long talks with Draco, and I really thought he was coming round to our way of seeing things--Lucius Malfoy and Peter Pettigrew had shut us in a cell."

Dumbledore stared at her thoughtfully for a few moments, rubbing his hands together as his eyes bored into hers as if searching for something more. Harry wondered briefly if Dumbledore was using Legilimency on her, but at the moment he couldn't be arsed to care. He just wanted to go to bed, and protecting Draco Malfoy was dead last on his list of things he ever wanted to do while still marginally sane.

"The pull of family loyalty, of blood, especially for a young man such as Draco who has been raised to believe in the sanctity of such, can be very strong indeed. Sometimes overpowering. You mustn't blame yourself, Miss Weasley."

"I don't, sir," Ginny said, but she looked away from Dumbledore and even Harry could see she was lying.

"Hmmm," Dumbledore said. "And what happened then?"

"Malfoy--Lucius, I mean--took our wands. We spent hours trying to come up with a way to escape, and then Professor Snape came. But just as he was about to let us out, Lucius Malfoy stepped out of the shadows."

Dumbledore sat up straighter, looking slightly alarmed. His eyes flickered to Harry. "Lucius Malfoy, you say? And he saw Professor Snape about to free you?"

"Yeah," said Harry. "He... he knew Snape is a spy. He said now he'd finally have proof. There was a duel, and Malfoy... he hit Snape with something bad. I dunno what, I couldn't follow the spells. But Snape was unconscious and Malfoy ran off to fetch Voldemort, we think. I levitated the key out of his pocket and we unlocked the door. And then, er. I had a potion, in my pocket. The Chronos Concoction? Hermione and I made it months ago." Harry flushed and swallowed. Half the things in the potion had had to be ordered from Knockturn Alley on the sly.

Dumbledore's eyes widened slightly, but more than anything he looked relieved. "You very probably saved Professor Snape's life with that potion, Harry," he said gently.

"Is he all right, sir?" Ginny asked, and Harry was surprised to see that she looked truly concerned.

"He's going to be fine," Dumbledore assured her, "thanks to the two of you. But whatever happened to Draco? He didn't choose to escape with you?"

"He..." Ginny swallowed hard and looked away, staring intently at the floor. She looked like she might cry, and Harry felt a surge of anger go through him. He wished she wouldn't waste her emotions on someone like Malfoy, who could only ever disappoint her.

"He stayed behind," Harry said, not looking at Ginny. "Ginny tried to convince him to come with us, but he said... his father. He couldn't leave his father."

Dumbledore sighed. "While I am not surprised by his decision, I find myself terribly disappointed by it. I had hoped... but then I am a foolish old man sometimes. We can only pray that Draco is safe, wherever he is, and that he comes back to us soon."

Harry didn't wish anything of the sort, but he kept silent. "Please sir, do you think we could go back to Gryffindor now? We were up all night..."

"Of course, my boy, of course," Dumbledore murmured, looking extremely distracted and disturbed by what they had told them. "Go on, then. Get some sleep."

Ginny helped Harry back to the common room. Maybe it was due to her Slayer powers, but she seemed much less dead on her feet than Harry did. They didn't talk as they made their way to Gryffindor, Harry too exhausted and Ginny lost in thought (probably about Malfoy, Harry couldn't help but think a little bitterly). The common room was empty. It was early yet, just an hour or so past dawn, and the scent of the previous night's dung bombs lingered in the air. Ginny turned toward the stairs leading up to the girl's dormitory, but Harry stopped her with a touch on the arm.

"Ginny, wait. I... I have to know. What's going on between you and Malfoy? He's... he's not just been helping you with the Order of Tarakan, has he?" Harry wasn't even sure he wanted an answer, but the apologetic look in her eyes said it all.

"We'll talk later, Harry. I promise. And I'll tell you everything. Anything you want to know, all right?" She ran her fingers through her hair with a grimace of disgust at the filthy, matted texture. "I'm tired of not telling you. Do you know what I mean? I'm just... too tired for secrets."

"Me too."

* * *

Harry slept for the rest of the day and through dinner, only waking after the sun had gone down. He had fallen asleep on top of his blankets in his filthy robes, having only just managed to remove his shoes before collapsing on his bed. Ron, Ginny, and Hermione were all sitting on Ron's bed, speaking in low voices as they waited for Harry to awake. 

"What time is it?" Harry asked, rubbing the sleep from his eyes before fumbling for his glasses.

"It's a bit after eight o'clock," Hermione said. "Ginny was just explaining what happened last night. We found that note, Harry, and thank god you left it or we'd never have been able to convince Professor Snape to go after you."

"Left it on purpose," Harry said, still groggy with sleep. His eyes flitted over to Ginny, who smiled at him sheepishly. "I need a shower. And some food. Anyone fancy a trip to the kitchens after?"

"I'll go," Ginny said quickly before Ron could offer instead, sending Hermione a significant glance.

"Excellent idea," Hermione said, grabbing Ron by the arm and standing. "We've got Prefect rounds anyway, but we'll talk to you later Harry. I'm so glad you're safe."

"Me too," Harry mumbled, collecting his bath things and a change of clothes.

When he returned from the bath, Ginny was waiting for him in the common room looking so shy and nervous that Harry was reminded of the girl she'd been years ago, when she'd blushed every time he glanced her way.

"I'm starved," Harry said. "And I was thinking, maybe while we're down there we could have that talk you promised?"

"Sure," Ginny said, not sounding sure at all. They walked to the kitchens in silence, both of them lost in thought. Now that his mind wasn't fogged with fear and anger, Harry was remembering more and more things that made so much more sense to him now. All those strange dreams he'd had about Ginny and Malfoy, her words to him at Christmas, and that night in the hospital wing, when Snape had sedated her.

The house elves were happy to see Harry, particularly Dobby, who made a huge fuss over him. "Harry Potter has missed dinner?" he exclaimed after Harry had greeted them. Winky, Harry was pleased to see, seemed to be doing slightly better. She still looked incredibly sad and morose, but her clothes were neat and clean and there wasn't a butterbeer in sight.

"I slept through," Harry said with a smile. "Have you got anything leftover? I'm starved."

"Of course, Harry Potter!" Dobby squeaked. "The house elves is always preparing more food than the school is eating. Dobby will fetch some right away! Would Harry Potter's friend like something too? Tea or chocolate or cake?"

"Thanks, Dobby," Ginny said with a smile. "Tea would be lovely."

Harry and Ginny sat at one of the long tables in the cheery kitchen and within minutes Dobby and a small army of house elves had set a tea service and more food than Harry could possibly hope to eat in front of them. Harry ate in silence for a few minutes while Ginny poured her tea and added so much sugar Harry was sure her cup would overflow. She cleared her throat nervously and took a sip from her cup.

"This isn't going to be pleasant, Harry," she warned him. "Are you sure you want to know everything?"

Harry flushed. "Maybe not everything," he muttered. "What about--I was having these dreams starting after Halloween. Sirius was in them, and it was like he was trying to tell me something about you. Something important. And then just before winter hols, I had a sort of... vision thing. It was Sirius, talking through me. I wasn't really conscious, though, and Snape never told me what really happened. And then I started having these other dreams, like I was watching scenes from other people's lives..."

He trailed off self-consciously. Ginny was staring at him with her mouth open, shock and understanding in her eyes. "That explains a lot, actually," she said. "The dreams--I had them too. Sirius wasn't in mine, of course, but the same sorts of things. A club, right? And vampires. Draco. And then later, during Christmas, the other dreams started. Slayer dreams, Buffy calls them."

"Slayer dreams?" Harry asked.

"All Slayers have them. We dream of past Slayers and sometimes... sometimes prophetic dreams too. But I don't understand how you could've had them too."

"I..." Harry looked away, wondering how much he could reveal to Ginny. He thought he was beginning to understand, and the dreams were only a small fraction of it. The two of them were connected in more ways than they'd ever suspected, and it wasn't necessarily a good thing if Harry was right. Meeting Ginny's eyes, Harry took a deep breath and nodded. She was right--they'd kept enough secrets from each other. It was time to be completely honest, not just with her, but with himself as well.

"I think it's down to Voldemort," Harry said, gripping his goblet of pumpkin juice hard in both hands to keep them from shaking. "He and I are connected through my scar and sometimes I have dreams of him, of things that he's doing. Or if he's having a particularly strong emotion, sometimes I can feel it too, through my scar. And you..."

"I'm connected to him too," Ginny said faintly, wrapping her arms around herself. "You destroyed the diary that night in the Chamber, but Tom Riddle had been possessing me for months, and I think... part of him is still inside me. You can't share souls with a thing like him and still come away pure."

Ginny looked completely horrified at the thought and her eyes filled with tears, but her lips were pressed into a thin line of determination. Harry scooted closer to her on the bench and gave her an awkward, one-armed hug.

"It's not like that, Gin," he said. "We were children. It's not something either of us asked for. You're the same Ginny I remember from before the Chamber. Just, you know, taller. And with super powers."

Ginny gave him a weak smile. "This does explain a lot. Do you... are there other things you want to know about?" she asked, leaning forward so that her hair fell in front of her face, blocking her from view.

Harry bit his lip. He wanted to know about Malfoy and he was very tempted to ask about her relationship with him, but at the same time he had a strong feeling that he wouldn't be happy with her answers. When he spoke again his voice was full of hesitation but his words were rushed--he just wanted to get them out as quickly as possible.

"Did you mean all those things you said when we fought?"

"Which time?" Ginny asked, turning to face him with a grin.

Harry flushed. "There has been quite a bit of fighting, hasn't there?"

"You noticed that too?" Ginny teased. "Look Harry, I wish I could say no. That I didn't mean any of it. But I... I _did_. And I mean 'did' as in past tense. I spent most of Fall term trying to be friends with you three. Real friends--you know what I mean. But I just kept getting closed out. The three of you are like this unbreakable... thing that can't be broken and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't push my way in. It had always bothered me before, but this time it was different. There was the Department of Mysteries and I thought it would change things. But it didn't, and then when Willow and Buffy approached be about slaying, I thought that it would change things too. That maybe... maybe if I was _more_, somehow, you would recognize what you were missing out on."

"But we didn't," Harry said. "We didn't even notice you'd changed."

Ginny nodded. "It was such a crap time for me, Harry. I had the Order of Tarakan to deal with, Lucius Malfoy sending me secret messages, my slaying duties _and_ my school work... I couldn't keep up. So that night we had that fight, when you saw me with Draco? I had finally decided to give up on you lot ever accepting me and take what I could get."

"God Ginny. I didn't realize--"

"Don't, Harry. Please. It's better that it happened. I couldn't tell the three of you about being the Slayer anyway, because of the Order. But Draco was already protected and anyway, he already _knew_. And it just... we became close." She looked away, her cheeks stained a bright red. "It's hard to explain, but we were together so often, fighting off the Tarakan, training day and night with Buffy, and neither of us really had anyone else. Draco... he's not what you think Harry, honestly. He hasn't got any friends--"

"What about Crabbe and Goyle and that cow, Pansy?"

"He hasn't got any _real_ friends," Ginny corrected, "not like you have. And Slytherin... Harry you can't imagine how horrid it is. Constant political battles being played out by children. Everyone's got their alliances and no one really knows where anyone else stands. You can't trust anyone."

"You're not going to make me feel sorry for him, Ginny. He's a prat. He chose his father over coming back with us, for Merlin's sake. And he hates me."

"He does at that," Ginny said. "But Harry... if you're father were alive, wouldn't you do everything in your power to be with him? You'd believe him when he told you that what he's doing is for the good of the wizarding world. But Draco knows it's wrong, Harry. He does. He just can't bring himself to admit it yet."

"Yet," Harry said flatly. "So you honestly think he will?"

"I do. I'm not saying he's not a prat or a... a racist. He is and I doubt that will ever change. But he knows what Voldemort wants to do is wrong."

"So are you... are you his girlfriend, then?"

Ginny laughed. "His girlfriend? Harry, are you honestly asking me that?"

Harry felt his cheeks heating up even more and began tracing the curves of the wood grain with his index finger, refusing to meet Ginny's eyes. "I've seen you," he admitted, "kissing. And things. So yeah, I guess I am. Asking."

Ginny coughed. "It's not like that. We're... friends. Of a sort. I care about him. But we're not dating, Harry. Can you imagine Lucius Malfoy's horror if we were? He'd probably die of shock. On second thought, that's something to consider."

"But you're always together," Harry protested. "Holding hands and things. It certainly seems like you're dating."

Ginny sighed in frustration. "Harry, what do you want me to say? Draco and I are friends, and I care about him. I'm not actually sure that he cares about me--"

"He does," Harry mumbled.

"--but for months we were all the other had. We were fighting the Tarakan constantly, and we had to be there for each other, supportive and the like, the way you and Ron and Hermione are."

"I'm not going round snogging Ron and Hermione though."

Ginny wrinkled her nose. "Dear lord I hope not. Anyway, yes... there's a sort of attraction there. And... and I'm allowed to have some fun if I like!"

Harry could feel himself becoming even more flushed. "It's just for fun then? It's not... you're not dating?"

"No!" Ginny all but yelled, running her fingers through her hair in frustration. "Can we talk about something else now, _please_?"

"Yeah, all right," Harry said with a grin. He felt inexplicably pleased that Ginny was so adamant about not dating Malfoy that he could ignore the rest. "So, tell me more about your Slayer powers. You do realize you've been cheating horribly at Quidditch all year, don't you?"

* * *

Harry, Hermione, Ginny and Ron stayed up late into the night, discussing everything that had happened over the past few days and the realizations Ginny and Harry had come to. Harry slept late the following morning, waking up just in time to make it down to the great hall before breakfast ended. Hermione and Ron had already gone, but Ginny was waiting for him in the common room and they walked together. 

But just as they emerged from the portrait entrance to Gryffindor, Ginny stopped them with a hand on Harry's arm, her head cocked to the side as if she were listening to something Harry couldn't hear.

"Draco," Ginny said in a low voice. "I know you're there. Come out."

Harry's eyes widened. Draco Malfoy stepped out from behind a large bust of Cornwall the Courageous, his eyes darting right and left furtively. Harry longed for his wand. He had the overwhelming urge to hex Malfoy.

"I shouldn't be seen," he said quickly, taking a few steps closer.

"What are you _doing_ here, Draco?" Ginny whispered furiously. "You stayed behind." For all her words about Malfoy the night before, Ginny looked as angry as Harry had ever seen her. She looked like she wouldn't mind slapping Draco right there.

Malfoy rolled his eyes and reached into his robes. "I brought you these," he said smugly, holding up two wands. "But if you don't want them..."

Ginny just stared, but Harry snatched his wand from Malfoy's fingers, a surge of relief going through him at the feel of the familiar wood grip in his hand again.

"How...?" Ginny asked, taking her own wand back and staring at Malfoy with something like admiration in her eyes. Harry looked away quickly.

"Father sent me back," he admitted. "When he found out you'd gone and taken Snape with you... he was furious. Pettigrew was keeping your wands and mine with him so I... I waited until he'd fallen asleep and stole them. And then I pretended not to know what had happened to them. Pettigrew got blamed--he's always messing things up so no one bothered to question it. And then... father sent me back."

Harry narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest. "We're supposed to believe that load of tripe?"

"Shut it, Harry," Ginny said softly, eyes still trained on Malfoy. "Does Dumbledore know you're here?" she asked him.

"I have a meeting with him and Professor Snape in a few minutes," he said. "What did you tell them?"

"Nothing that would implicate you," Ginny said quickly, gesturing that they should start walking toward the main stair. "Just keep quiet, let them talk. And for Merlin's sake, Draco, try listening for a change. I know you love your father, but he's a bloody fanatic nutter and you know it."

They left Draco at the stair that would take him to Dumbledore's office and continued downward to the great hall, just reaching it in time to get some breakfast. Harry couldn't help but think of the look on Malfoy's face as they'd left him--confused and almost... scared.

* * *

They were sitting outside on the lawn, enjoying the bright sunshine and the warm, mild breeze off the lake when the screaming began. 

At first Harry didn't think anything of it. Finals had ended a few days ago and everyone was running a little bit wild. Someone might've fallen in the lake, there was a group of fourth years playing Quidditch over at the pitch, so screaming wasn't anything to be concerned about.

But then it happened again, and it didn't stop.

"Oh my god," Hermione whispered, scrambling to her feet and looking out toward the forest. Harry, Ginny and Ron got to their feet, turning to look. What they saw left all of them speechless and for a moment Harry felt completely frozen, as if the world had stopped turning for that one moment.

Harry was thrown back in time, to that vision he'd had through Cassandra's Door--the Found Door. The giants looming over the forest, the Death Eaters coming through the trees in their horrible white masks like death... but this. This was real.

"Run!" Harry yelled, grabbing Ginny by the arm and starting off for the castle. Ginny pulled away from him, stopping dead in her tracks.

"We can't just run!" she yelled. "We have to stay, to fight!"

But just then the loudest sirens Harry had ever heard went off--the signal that Willow's wards had been broken. The teachers came rushing out of the castle, signaling to the students to get inside. Harry ran full out toward the castle steps, quickly followed by Ron, Hermione and Ginny. They only stopped when they reached Professors McGonagall and Dumbledore. Behind them, Buffy and Willow were directing students inside the castle and Bill was shouting orders.

"Harry, Ron, Ginny!" he yelled when he saw them. "Summon your brooms and get the Astronomy Tower!"

Meanwhile, Professor McGonagall had taken Hermione off to the side. "I need you to take all the younger students to the kitchens. The house elves will help you, but you must keep them safe." Hermione was already turning to face the grounds, casting a _Sonorous_ charm on herself to be heard above the din. As he, Ron, and Ginny headed up the Astronomy tower, summoning their brooms as they went, Hermione's voice rang throughout the castle, ordering all students third year and below to the great hall, from where she'd lead them to the kitchens. The Astronomy Tower was crowded with upper year students from Bill's flying tactics class. Ginny, Ron, and Harry were some of the last to arrive, breathing hard as the climbed the last few steps.

Professor Flitwick was already talking when they arrived, holding up a Charm Bomb and explaining what they were doing. "Professor Weasley will be joining us momentarily, but before he does, if everyone will please take a pack," he pointed to a pile of rucksacks, "and fill them with Charm Bombs."

As the crowd of students moved forward to do as Professor Flitwick said, Harry saw Blaise Zabini in the crowd, but Malfoy wasn't there. Harry exchanged a look with Ginny, but neither of them mentioned his absence, taking their rucksacks and filling them while Professor Flitwick went over the instructions for setting the timers on the bombs.

Bill arrived moments later, flying over the tower on his broom before landing next to Professor Flitwick and leaping off his broom. He raised his hands to get their attention, but he needn't have bothered. All eyes were trained on him and everyone was silent, waiting to hear what Bill had to say.

"Hogwarts is under attack," he said, his voice low and calm. "We've been going over these drills for months now and you know what to do, but I want you to know that anyone who has the least bit of doubt about defending the school, stand back now. Go to the kitchens with the younger students and stay out of the way--no one will think any less of you. We're not demanding that any fight," he continued, "but we are asking. This is your school at risk--your world, your future, your way of life. You have a choice. But I can tell you right here, right now. _They_ aren't going to give you one."

With that Bill turned his back on them and mounted his broom. "Wands out if you're coming. Let's go."

Harry, Ron, and Ginny mounted their brooms and fell effortlessly into formation. Harry barely had time to think before they were flying out over the lawns and down toward the battle below. They stayed high in the air, twenty or more feet above the head of the tallest giant, splitting into two groups as they had trained. They spread out over the lawns above the battle and Harry guided his broom carefully with his knees while he reached into his pack for a Charm Bomb. He tried not to look at what was going on below but it was hard not to notice the bright flashes of light on the ground. He could feel the cold chill of the dementors below and saw the silvery flashes of Patronuses shooting across the lawn.

Harry began setting Charm Bombs as he flew, waiting until he heard Bill's signal before Banishing the first toward a large group of Death Eaters. He didn't bother aiming for the giants--it would take all of them throwing Stunners at the same giant to take one down. He didn't stay to watch what happened, just flew on, forcing all his concentration into keeping in formation, setting his Charm Bombs and listening for Bill's orders.

Harry knew it was going to happen, had seen it in his vision, but when the sun seemed to go out suddenly, flooding the grounds in darkness, he nearly fell off his broom in surprise. Below he could hear Buffy shouting and people screaming, but he couldn't tell who.

"Harry!" Ginny flew up next to him, hovering as she lit her wand with a muttered _lumos_. Harry did the same, and all across the sky he could see wand lights going on as they continued to listen for Bill's orders.

"Ginny, what's going on?"

"Willow's done a spell, a sort of shield thing to block out the sunlight. Spike's got a whole army of vampires he's been hiding in the forest. He's convinced them to fight for us, somehow. Willow's been preparing this spell for months, ever since your trip through the Found Door."

"Fire!" Harry heard Bill's voice above the din and Banished another Charm Bomb, aiming for the back line of where the Death Eaters had been before the sun had gone out, hoping he wasn't accidentally Stunning students.

"On the ground!" Bill commanded, signaling that they should come together. "We're no good up here without light," Bill shouted. "Let's head down to help out on the ground!"

Harry and Ginny exchanged glances before aiming their brooms downward toward the lawns. But at the last second, Harry changed directions, heading instead for the giants, which he could see were wreaking havoc, knocking people aside in threes and fours with each sweep of their arms.

"Harry!" Ginny shouted. "Where are you going?"

Harry ignored her, heading for the giants, moving just low enough for his spells to be in range. "Oy!" he yelled, tossing a Charm Bomb at the biggest one's head. "Up here, you great ugly oaf!"

The giant turned its face upward to look at him with its teeth bared, and Harry aimed carefully, firing a Conjunctivitus Curse directly in its eye. With a flash of red the curse hit dead on and the giant roared, stomping around in pain and bring its hands to its face. Harry was horrified to see the giant stomping on some of the Stunned Death Eaters below, but before he could think about it he moved onto the next giant, hoping to drive them back into the forest.

Harry was surprised when Ron and Ginny joined him, but he didn't pause. They worked together to cast curses on the giants, with Ron and Ginny distracting them while Harry cast. Soon they had manages to hit all ten of the giants, who were stomping around blindly. Harry was at a loss as to how to direct the giants into the forest when Ron spoke up, yelling above the noise of the battle below.

"Stinging Hexes!" he shouted. "Use them to force them into the forest!"

It was slow work--they had to work together, casting hex after hex at each blinded giant to lead them into the forest. After ten minutes of this Harry was beginning to tire. He had never cast so many spells in such a short period of time and he hadn't realized until now just how tired it could make him. It didn't help that the dementors still floated below, making him feel chilled and faint. Every spell he cast made him feel just a little bit weaker until he could barely concentrate on the hex he was supposed to be casting.

He was concentrating so hard on casting and staying upright on his broom that he didn't realize how low he was flying until--

"Harry!" Ginny screamed. Harry snapped his head back, searching the sky above for her, and that's when it happened. With a blinding flash of light, Harry felt a surge of pain slice across his right arm and when he looked down, his sleeve was soaked in blood. For a moment he hovered in mid-air, frozen with shock, the next moment he was weaving on his broom, his vision spotted with black as blood dripped down his arm and off his fingers in a steady stream.

Harry didn't know how Ginny managed to get him back to the Astronomy Tower but the next thing he knew, she was pulling him off his broom and urging him toward the staircase.

"Need some help?" a familiar voice asked from behind them. Ginny looked over her shoulder with a frown.

"Draco. What the bloody hell are you doing here?"

"Watching," he responded, walking forward to face them. Harry was breathing hard and he could barely see. His vision seemed to be going dark and he leaned against Ginny weakly, barely aware of what was going on.

Ginny bit her lip, considering his offer. "Fine," she said shortly. "Can you take him down to the kitchens? Do you know where they are?"

"I'm a Slytherin," Malfoy replied," of course I know where the kitchens are. How else would I get my daily dose of house elf torture, hm?"

"Stop being a prat and help me," Ginny commanded.

Harry tried to protest, but his voice didn't seem to be working and his limbs seemed to want to obey Ginny far more than him. Ginny slung his arm around Malfoy's shoulders and cast a quick lightening spell on him.

"Now go," Ginny said.

"You're not coming with us?" Malfoy asked.

"I'm going back to the battle."

Malfoy shrugged and forced Harry forward, down the tight spiral stairs out of the tower. To Harry it felt like ages before they reached the kitchen, with Malfoy keeping up a stream of complaints the entire time. Harry was too weak to care, and when they arrived at the kitchens and Malfoy reached forward to tickle the pear, he was just thankful he'd made it without fainting.

"Oh god, Harry!" he heard Hermione's voice as if it was far off. Someone was moving him around, maneuvering him to lie on one of the long benches and stripped off his robes. "What happened to him?" Hermione asked.

"I don't know, actually," Malfoy replied, sounding as if he didn't care, either. "Ginny asked me to bring him here--I was watching from the Astronomy Tower."

"Harry, can you hear me?" Hermione asked. He nodded weakly. "I'm going to try to heal your arm. But I've not studied advanced healing spells, only read about them in books really, so I'm not sure this'll work very well. So, er, I'm going to give you a Sleeping Potion, just in case it's really painful."

_Well that's reassuring_, Harry thought, swallowing reflexively as Hermione tipped something vile and liquid down his throat. Moments later he was asleep and blissfully unaware.

* * *

When he awoke he was still in the kitchens and his arm ached, but his vision was clear and aside from feeling slightly groggy, he seemed to be all right. He sat up slowly, blinking as he took in the chaos of the kitchens. Younger students were everywhere, sitting on the floor in scattered groups, their faces white and pinched with worry while house elves rushed around, trying desperately to find something they could do for someone. 

"You're awake," Hermione said, pushing a cup of cocoa into his hand. "Here, drink this. It'll help."

Harry rolled his eyes but downed the chocolate quickly, immediately feeling a spread of warmth throughout his body. Handing the empty cup back, Harry examined his injured arm with a frown. A long, red scar ran the width of his upper arm and when Harry touched it, the flesh stung slightly.

"Sorry about that, Harry," Hermione said ruefully. "I did the best I could. Pomfrey might be able to smooth the scar tissue but there was nothing for it. It was that or let you bleed to death."

"It's all right," Harry said. "But what's happened with the attack? Is it over? Have Ron and Ginny come back?"

Hermione shook her head and opened her mouth to reply, but just then the door burst open. Within moments the entire room was on its feet with wands out, but it was Dumbledore and McGonagall who entered the kitchens, looking tired and dirty but otherwise fine.

"For the moment," Dumbledore said, raising one hand to silence the room, "the fighting has ended. The wards are being restored and strengthened as we speak, and I ask all of you to return to your common rooms, where your Heads of House will address you further. I ask only that you remain calm. Hogwarts is safe, and I am determined that it will remain so."

With that Dumbledore turned and swept out of the room while McGonagall stayed behind, shooing students toward their common rooms. Harry and Hermione exchanged worried glances but didn't speak--they were too busy leading the lower year Gryffindors up to the tower. Harry saw Malfoy on the other side of the room directing the Slytherins into an orderly line and shook his head. He didn't understand what Malfoy was about--one minute he hated Harry and was determined to stay behind with his nutter father and the Dark Lord, the next he was helping Harry and well, saving his life.

Harry and Hermione led the Gryffindors up to the tower, Harry still feeling slightly weak with blood loss. He supposed he should probably go to see Pomfrey, but then again the hospital wing was probably filled with people injured from the battle. The lower year students were eerily silent on the walk up to the tower, and once they'd all clamored through the portrait hole, most of them took seats in the back, looking white and shaken.

Harry climbed through the portrait hole last, searching the round room for Ron and Ginny's bright heads. He found them immediately, standing by the fireplace with Hermione, taking it in turns to hug her. Ginny looked fine, better than fine--her eyes were bright with energy and life. Ron was dirty and when he turned to face Harry, Harry could tell something was wrong with his leg by the way he moved.

"Oh Harry, thank Merlin. I was so worried, I should never have sent you off with Draco!" Ginny said as she threw her arms around Harry's neck. Harry patted her back awkwardly, feeling very uncomfortable with Ginny's show of affection in front of all of Gryffindor. Ron grinned at him over Ginny's shoulder and Harry flushed, pulling away from her and fiddling with his glasses nervously.

"It's fine, Gin. He... he got me there fine. Complained the whole bloody way, mind you, but he got me there. What happened? Dumbledore said it's over, but he didn't say much else."

Ginny and Ron exchanged dark looks. "It was horrible," Ron said. "We tried to stay on our brooms as long as possible, but after you got injured, we couldn't use the Charm Bombs anymore. Everyone was too mixed up--we were just Stunning our own people and it wasn't working. There were bodies... Merlin. Bodies everywhere. Death Eaters, drained completely of blood. It was sick..."

"You're not going to vomit again, are you?" Ginny asked dryly, but her eyes had the same haunted look that Ron's did, like they'd both seen something so horrible they wished they could scrub it from their brains.

Ron shook his head. "You can't imagine, Harry. So many dead, and for what?"

"It was necessary, Ron," Hermione said gently, pulling him down onto the couch by the fireplace. She grasped his hand gently in hers and squeezed. "We couldn't have done it without Spike's and the other vampires' help."

"It's twisted," Ginny said bitterly, sitting down on the rug in front of them. Harry sat down next to her and when their shoulders brushed together, he didn't pull away. "I knew," she admitted, staring the pattern on the rug. "I knew Spike was recruiting vampires for this army. He promised them protection from me and Buffy. I hate this," she said softly, wrapping her arms around her knees. "I know that we need them, but they're killers, and eventually feeding them Death Eaters isn't going to satisfy them anymore. And then what?"

Harry hesitated for a moment before wrapping his arm around Ginny's shoulder and squeezing slightly. "Hey, we'll figure something out," he said, glancing up at Hermione and Ron with a look of panic. He had no idea if things would be all right and he was even worse at comforting people. Harry remembered seeing Ginny and Malfoy in the library once when Ginny seemed to be falling apart, and Malfoy had handled it so well. Harry swallowed and sent another pleading look at Hermione, who smiled weakly in return.

"Harry's right, Gin. You can't worry about that right now. There's no use making yourself feel terrible over something that's out of your control."

"I know," Ginny murmured. "But then--what about the Council and the Tarakan?" She rested her head in her hands, her fingers tugging fitfully at her hair.

"Ginny..." Hermione trailed off, biting her lip. "Ginny, have you tried talking to Dumbledore about this? He's the most powerful wizard in all of Britain, probably the entire world. If anyone could force the Council to call the Tarakan off, it's him."

Ginny shook her head. "I... I didn't say anything to him. He was so angry when he found out what Buffy and Willow had down, he nearly had them sacked. I didn't want them risking their jobs because of the Council."

"Well I think it's time," Ron said firmly. "Buffy and Willow aren't coming back next year anyway, so it's not like he can really sack them. Especially after everything they've done to protect Hogwarts. And it's not their fault. I don't like the sound of this Council. Clearly complete nut jobs, if you ask me."

"Excuse me children," Professor McGonagall's voice came from behind them. Harry and Ginny turned to face the front of the room. McGonagall was standing there, looking frail and so much older than Harry could ever remember her looking. She had cleaned up since he'd seen her in the kitchen, and she had a long scroll in her hand.

"I know we've all had a terrible shock today," she said, looking at them over her glasses, "and I thank you for remaining calm. I know you all must be worried about your friends and family members. I have here a list of names, students and teachers in the hospital wing right now. I'll put it on the board so you rest assured your loved ones are safe."

She looked around the room, her face grave and her eyes sad. "There have been losses and we can't pretend otherwise. But we can all be grateful that there were very few considering the nature and timing of the attack. We were lucky. Furthermore, anyone who would like to talk about the events of this afternoon, please feel free to come to my office at anytime. I'm sure your prefects are available for such things as well. Now is the time when we must band together and support each other. I ask that any remaining rivalries between houses be put aside. We've all lost in this war. Try to remember that and treat each other with respect and dignity.

"One last announcement," Professor McGonagall continued as she pinned the scroll of names on the notice board. "Professor Dumbledore has decided to hold the leaving feast a few days early. I will see you all in the Great Hall tomorrow evening for the feast. Until then we ask that you remain in the tower until the castle wards can be fortified and the Forbidden Forest secured." Swallowing, she nodded her head as if assuring herself of something. Her eyes swept the room, settling on Harry and his friends. "I'm proud of you all."

* * *

Harry could barely sleep that night, and the next day was spent in a corner of the common room with Ron, Ginny, and Hermione, trying to distract each other while they waited out the seemingly endless day with game after game of wizard's chess and exploding snap. By the time dinner arrived, they had all fallen silent and the air around them was filled with tension, all of them wondering what Dumbledore would say at the leaving feast. 

Filing into the great hall, Harry was surprised to see Snape seated at the head table, still looking incredibly pale with dark circles like bruises beneath his eyes, but just as surly as ever. He met Harry's eyes with a slight sneer and Harry knew nothing had changed between them. Strangely enough, that idea was comforting to him and something like relief went through him at the sight of his potions professor.

Harry took his seat at the Gryffindor table, only slightly annoyed when Ginny crossed the room to talk to Malfoy. The conversation didn't last long; Malfoy looked as annoyed as Harry by Ginny's presence, but when she pulled him into a tight hug, he returned it just the same. Harry looked away, and when Ginny returned to the Gryffindor table and sat down next to him, he didn't say anything. He still didn't understand what sort of relationship she had with Draco Malfoy, and anyway, there were more important things to worry about right now.

The food appeared, a lavish feast the house elves must've spent the entire day working on, but Harry didn't feel much like eating. He pushed his food around on his plate and mumbled replies to his friends' questions and comments. A sort of numbness had fallen over him since the attack. He knew he should be feeling something--anger, sadness, fear--but instead... nothing. It was like someone had come and switched off his emotions entirely.

Finally, after about forty minutes of pretending to eat, Harry heard the distinct sound of someone hitting their fork against their goblet. Up at the head table, Dumbledore was trying to get everyone's attention. The hall fell silent. No one moved or made a sound. Harry had never seen the whole school be so completely still and felt a shiver go up his spine.

"Another year," Dumbledore said, his voice echoing through the eerie silence of the Great Hall, "has come to a close." His faded blue eyes swept over the sea of faces turned up to him, serious and tired behind half-moon spectacles. :I'm afraid that whatever words I have to offer you tonight will be inadequate to express the loss and grief you must all be experiencing now, and will continue to echo through your lives in this time of darkness.

"I knew two years ago that Cedric Diggory's murder would not be the last and yet I had hoped then that we might be able to prevent too many more at Voldemort's hands. Cedric was not the last and while it pains me to tell you this, we have only just begun. We rest on the cusp of war, a war that may very well drag on past your time here at Hogwarts. I can only hope that, for all our sakes, it does not. You are all in a precarious position, hanging in the balance between two sides in a war not of your making, removed from the ideals and values of your lives here. And yet it is you--your generation, your youth and strength--that will be made to fight.

"A very wise student once told us, "You're waging a war, but we'll be the ones to fight in it.' Harry Potter never spoke truer words. It isn't fair or right or just, but oftentimes in life, fairness is pushed by the wayside, sacrificed for the greater good. And although it is not just, every one of you will be forced at one time or another to make a decision. There can be no abstention in a war such as this--one that will change the very foundations of our world for better or worse.

I must remind you at this time that all of you," here he paused, his eyes resting on the Slytherin table in particular, "every single person in this room has a choice. You must make it, but it is yours to make and yours alone."

Harry stretched and shifted to find the object of Dumbledore's gaze and his eyes caught on the pale mask of Malfoy's face. Malfoy was staring up at the head table, grey eyes focused sharply on Dumbledore, but his expression was carefully blank. Ginny, too, was watching Malfoy, a fierce expression on her own face. Harry turned his gaze back to Dumbledore, swallowing hard at the strange burning sensation in his throat.

"Tonight I ask you to honor your classmates, teachers, and friends who have already made their decisions and given the ultimate sacrifice to protect those of us who must, inevitably, carry on. We must not allow their sacrifices to be in vain. If you, as I do, wish to honor them now, I ask you to raise your glasses and remember.

To all of those who've given of themselves so that we may go on, you will be remembered."

* * *

That night Harry couldn't sleep. Dumbledore's words kept echoing in his head and he couldn't help but wonder how many more people would have to sacrifice themselves before he had the courage and strength to face Voldemort. And if he failed, how many more would die because of that? When he could no longer stand to think about it any longer, he took Sirius's diary out from his trunk and snuck down to the common room. 

After several minutes of telling the diary the worst jokes he could think of, Sirius's writing appeared on the pages as it had before and Harry began to read, flipping through the pages and skipping long passages that seemed to poems written to motorbikes, or about motorbikes. There were also several extremely poor drawings of motorbikes, and Harry was just beginning to think his godfather had had an extremely unhealthy obsession when he came to an interesting looking entry.

_1 April 1976 Something horrible happened today. We were all in potions, and honestly I don't understand why Peter decided to take the N.E.W.T. class because he's absolute rubbish. He and Moony were partnered up on the antidote we were working on and Wormtail must've added things in the wrong order because when Moony tested the potion, it poisoned him instead. _

_I just sat there next to James watching him turn paler and paler until his started choking, as if all the oxygen were being sucked out of his lungs. Lucky James was there--he gave Moony some of our antidote and everything was all right again. Got ten points for Gryffindor too, that smug prat. _

_He was fine, but I couldn't help thinking--what if he had died, and I'd never told him that I love him? He'd just die and not know. So, I'm going to tell him. I have to. It's a prime directive now, no backing away this time. Because I can't stand to waste anymore time or to have that thought again. I won't live by what ifs and be left to wonder about the things I never had the bollocks to do. _

"Harry? What're you doing up, it's late."

Harry shut the diary quickly and his head shot up. Ginny was standing at the foot of the stair in her dressing gown, rubbing at her eyes sleepily. Her hair was a sight, all tangled in the back and flat on one side, and she looked as if she'd like nothing more than to go right back up to bed.

"I couldn't sleep," he said, setting the book aside and crossing the room to her. "What are you doing up?"

She shrugged. "Dunno. Had a nightmare, actually, and couldn't bring myself to go back to sleep just yet."

"Ginny, there's something I need to tell you," Harry blurted, feeling surprised by his own words. He hadn't planned on saying anything to Ginny, but then he thought about Sirius's diary and the attack and the Tarakan. What if Ginny were killed and he never had the chance to tell her... he wasn't sure what, exactly. He swallowed nervously.

"You do?" Ginny asked with a yawn.

"Yes," he said firmly, surprising himself again. "It's...look. I just want you to know. In case you die... god that sound terrible, but you know what I mean. I want you to know that I'm sorry about the way I've acted. A-and that I... you're my friend, no matter what you might think, and I care. About you, I mean. God, I'm not saying this right. You must think me an utter wanker." Harry could feel himself blushing furiously, his cheeks so hot he thought he might start sweating. His palms were damp with nerves and he wiped them on his pajamas, staring intently at the carpet and waiting for Ginny to start laughing at his pathetically ridiculous declaration.

But she didn't laugh. Instead, she slid her fingers around the nape of his neck, leaned forward, and kissed him.

Harry was so surprised he forgot to close his eyes, and all he could think as her lips pressed against his was that her freckles were a lot bigger close up. And then she was pulling away with a smile and wrapping her other arm around him in a tight hug.

"I know," she mumbled against his neck, and Harry had enough sense to wrap his arms around her waist to hug her back. "I was just waiting for you to know it, too."

* * *

The train ride home was possibly the calmest return trip to King's Cross Harry had ever had. Buffy and Willow were riding back too, and they spent most of the trip in the carriage with Harry and his friends, telling them stories about Sunnydale and their friends there. Only the day before, Dumbledore had convinced the Council to call of the Tarakan, although from the way Ginny told it, it had been more him threatening them with horrible death and dismemberment than anything else. 

"I have some good news for you," Buffy told Ginny, examining a Chocolate Frog card in fascination. "Turns out Pince is retiring, and Dumbledore is going to hire Giles to take over as Hogwarts librarian."

Ginny raised one eyebrow. "How is that good news for me?"

"Duh. Because he's going to be your Watcher. You won't have to put up with my entire lack of ability to actually train you or Willow's tendency to scream like a, um, well, girl, and jump up onto desks whenever any beasties attack."

"I don't scream," Willow said. "I enthusiastically point out that evil is afoot."

"Well that's a relief," Ginny said with a grin. "I was beginning to think I'd go deaf."

"What about this summer, though?" Ron asked, looking up from the game of wizard's chess he and Hermione were playing. "You won't have anyone looking after you."

"I'll be fine, Ron," Ginny said, but Buffy was shaking her head.

"You'll have to do patrols. And believe me, evil will come to you. It always done. It's like an energizer bunny. Just keeps going and going. Only it doesn't come with batteries. Unless it's a robot, and you'd be surpised how many times I thought something was a demon and it just turned out to be a really scary machine that wanted to kill me and steal my mom."

"Er... all right," said Ginny.

"I wouldn't worry too much," Willow said. "It'll be different for you. Unless you live on a hell mouth we don't know about?"

"Not that I know of."

About halfway through the trip, Malfoy opened their carriage door and demanded rather imperiously that Ginny come speak to him alone. Harry clenched his hands together and tried very hard not to think about what they might be doing. He hated that Ginny was... whatever she was with Malfoy, but he couldn't very well tell her to stop being it. They had kissed twice more since that night in the common room, but he had no idea how Ginny felt about him. For all he knew, she might not like him at all. She could still be angry at him for the way he'd treated her the past year, but then why would she be kissing him? He needed to talk to Hermione about it, but lately she and Ron had been inseparable. From the look in Hermione's eyes when she watched Ginny and Malfoy disappear into the corridor, though, she and Ginny had discussed the matter at length.

Hermione caught Harry staring and gave him a wide smile. Buffy's eyes flitted from Harry to the door to Hermione and back again.

"She likes you," Buffy said matter of factly. "So you can stop being all moody jealous guy."

"What?" Harry asked weakly, feeling like a complete idiot.

"She. Likes. You," Buffy repeated. "And let's face it, seeing as you have like, a giant bull's eye on you that says, 'Worst enemy of horrible Dark Lord, capture me now and win amazing powers beyond imagination,' she's you're best bet for girlfriends who won't die on you."

"Oy!" said Ron. "That's not very reassuring."

"To be reassuring, I'd have to be assuring first," Buffy said with a smile.

By the time they arrived at the station, Harry had worked up the courage to reach for Ginny's hand. She smiled at him and threaded her fingers through his, simple and easy, as if it were perfectly natural to hold hand's with one's brother's best friend. When they got off the train, Harry looked around for the Dursleys, but he didn't see them anywhere. The Weasley and Remus Lupin were there though, talking with the Grangers and Giles, who had come to pick up Buffy and Willow. Harry followed the rest of the group over to them, beginning to feel slightly nervous that his aunt and uncle weren't yet there to pick him up. They had never been late before.

"They're not coming," Remus told him with a smile, noticing Harry searching the station. "I paid them a visit earlier today and told them it wasn't necessary. Dumbledore has agreed to let you come home with me for the summer, if that's all right with you."

Harry grinned. "All right? It's fantastic! But what about the protection spells? Won't Voldemort be able to find me."

"Not where we're going," Remus assured him.

Meanwhile, Mrs. Weasley was hugging her children and Hermione, while Giles greeted Willow and Buffy in turn.

"I trust you had a good term? I understand the Council has called off the Tarakan. Shameful if you ask me, the very idea of the Council calling upon them in such a disgraceful manner. In my day--"

"Please Giles," Buffy said with a laugh, "In your day the Council turned an insane vampire loose on my mother. They are without scruples. Which sounds like it should be a breakfast cereal to me, now that I think about it. Scruples. I bet they'd be chocolaty delicious."

"Yes well, be that as it may--"

"He always uses so many words that don't really mean anything," Willow interrupted. "Have you ever noticed that? It's like he could just say, 'Yup,' or 'Uh huh' but instead he thinks of ten little words instead."

Saying good-bye was harder than Harry thought it would be. Ron grinned at him and patted him on the back, while Hermione demanded that he write to her weekly, "Not like last summer. This time I _will_ send Howlers, don't you doubt it!"

Buffy and Willow each gave him a hug too, and Giles shook his hand, telling him he'd see Harry in the fall. Ginny was last, and she gave him such a long hug that Harry started to blush when Ron cleared his throat pointedly.

"You'd better write," she told him.

"I will," he promised. "And you too--you're sure to have a much more adventurous summer than I am."

"I think I'm all adventured out," Ginny said with a smile. She gave him a quick kiss on the cheek and turned to go, running to catch up with Mrs. Weasley and Ron, who were already wheeling their trunks down the platform.

"Are you ready, then?" Remus asked, grabbing the trolley handles while Harry settled Hedwig's cage on top of his trunk.

"Yeah," Harry said with a grin. "I think I am."

* * *

The end.


End file.
